


An Island Of You And Me

by ninathena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Desert Island Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninathena/pseuds/ninathena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of sending the 100 down to Earth, the Council sends only Clarke and Bellamy. Their pod however ends up on a desert island, and they must learn to work together to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from me watching The Blue Lagoon while on vacation, and instead of enjoying the very silly movie, I just proceeded to daydream about Clarke and Bellamy running around half-naked on a tropical island. Except that's not what this turned out to be, because I'm difficult like that. So, this is less The Blue Lagoon and more Castaway I guess.
> 
> I'm sorry for any mistakes and I really hope you enjoy this!

The knock at the door is unexpected – he doesn’t get visitors. But it doesn’t startle him, because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything anymore. Except for one thing, he reminds himself.

Octavia.

The door lets out a sharp squeal when he opens it. He’s used to it, standing unfazed, but the man on the other side cringes at the sound.

Bellamy can tell just by looking at him that this man is on the Council. The arrogant lift of his chin and the disdain with which he eyes him, gives it away. This man is responsible for killing his mother, arresting his sister. What the hell is he doing here?

Rage surges through him, and all he can see is himself throttling this guy, choking the life from him. He wants to watch as the pretentiousness on his face morphs into fear. For his mother, for his sister. For himself.

It subsides when he thinks of Octavia. Still alive and breathing in the Skybox. She comes first before all else. Even his revenge.

“Mr. _Blake_ ,” his visitor barks sharply, trying to get his attention. Probably not for the first time.

Bellamy forces himself to breathe, the red hot fury inside him exhaling along with the air in his lungs. Just enough for him to take control of his emotions.

“What the hell do you want?” he seethes, words escaping through his clenched teeth.

The man pushes his way in, and Bellamy has to stop himself from slamming the heavy, metal door into his face.

The man holds his hands in front of him as he eyes the small room, mouth twisting in distaste. Bellamy wants to remind him that _he_ , and the Council, are the reason why the people of Factory live in such squalor. But he has a feeling this great and powerful man already knows. He already knows how his decisions effect the people beneath him, and he likes showing how that makes him superior.

“Mr. Blake,” he begins, official and patronizing, “I’m Councilor Kane. I have a proposition for you.”

xxxxxxxxx

If you had asked her when she woke up this morning what she’d be doing today, the last thing she would’ve said was plummeting to the earth in a death trap. But here she is, her eyes shut tight, and her head plastered to her seat as the force of her descent intensifies. Clarke holds onto the belts crisscrossing her chest, bracing herself for the crash she knows is coming.

The escape pod rattles and shakes with a volatile instability, and for a moment her heart seizes painfully in her chest at the mental image of the small, metal spacecraft tearing apart around her, shredding into pieces as she hurdles through space. She whimpers with fear, but the sound is lost in the fiery clatter of the pod.

It suddenly intensifies, thunderous and explosive as the pod jerks up, causing her stomach to leap into her throat before violently dropping back down. Her shrill scream pierces her ears even through the deafening eruption around her, and her hand flies to the armrest.

For a second she’s shocked at the feel of flesh instead of fabric, and her eyes jump down at the strangeness of it. _His_ hand clutches the rest between them, knuckles white and pronounced beneath her terrified grip, and she remembers she’s not alone.

Their eyes meet, and she sees the terror that she knows must be mirrored in her own. But there’s also a drive, a determination to survive gleaming in the dark depths of him. And even though she barely knows him – even though in that short amount of time she _has_ known him, she’s already come to the conclusion that he’s a loutish asshole – his strength reaches out to her. It blooms in her chest and rushes down her limbs, barricading her mind against the panic that presses forcefully against it.

She’s as ready as she’ll ever be with their final impact, her neck snapping forward before snapping back just as quick. And then it’s all gone.

xxxxxxxxx

The mechanical hum and whirr gradually dies along with the light that flickers above him. Until everything is just… quiet. Not like the quiet that kills him slowly at home, as he sits alone in his quarters torturing himself with memories of the past, but a kind of quiet that is surreal in its hush. Almost trancelike after the tumultuous roar he’d just burst from.

Eventually things come into focus, his harsh breath disrupting the ethereal silence as his mind and vision play catch up. The first thing Bellamy notices is he’s alive, and a rare smile stretches at his lips. He tries to laugh but it comes out more like an exhausted huff between his panting.

The second thing he notices is the luminous glow filling the pod. Without the dim, artificial light above him, he’s encompassed in a muted, otherworldly blue filtering in through the windows. It plays across his shirt and along the walls, flowing in and around itself in a serene dance. It lulls him into a sense of relaxation, his whole body melting with it.

He leans forward in his seat with curiosity, peering out of the thick glass. Plants stretch around the pod, all different colors and shapes – green and teal and pink, round and tall and floral – swaying in a sinuous, fluid movement. It’s beautiful. Magical. Then something glides past and he blinks at the sight of it. A fish. A real one. With blue and white stripes down its gleaming scales. He smiles again, amazed at it all.

And then it hits him, his face falling with realization. He’s underwater.

He drops his head on the headrest, the rolling illumination around him now making him feel trapped instead of calm. He turns to the girl beside him, remembering her for the first time. Her head is tilted back, facing him with her eyes closed. She hasn’t moved since they landed, and a spike of worry jumps within him.

“Hey,” he whispers, gruff and raspy, but she remains motionless. He repeats it a little louder, but she still doesn’t respond.

His fingers fumble with his seatbelt, hurrying to unclasp himself, trying not to panic at the thought of being imprisoned underwater with a dead girl. He cradles her head in his hands, trying to remember her name, and he freezes when his fingers feel a wet patch in her blonde hair. Pulling his hand back, he sees blood, hot on his fingers as he stares down in surprise.

He whips his head around, searching for anything to staunch the bleeding, only coming up with a small rag on the floor. It’s filthy, and not at all sanitary, but it’ll have to do. He kneels in front of her, pressing the rag to her head, just above and behind her left ear, still working to remember her damn name.

“Hey. C’mon. C’mon, wake up,” he repeats. He knows she’s alive, can feel her soft puffs of breath against his wrist. For a moment, he wonders if it would be so bad if she _were_ dead, remembering her condescending attitude and resentful glare when he stepped into the room with her and Jaha. He would’ve assumed she was on the council herself if it wasn’t for her obvious young age and the cuffs that bound her hands in front of her.

_“What the hell is going on?” She snaps at Bellamy and Kane’s arrival._

_Kane stares her down, and Bellamy rolls his eyes at the moron, so insecure in his control, he feels the need to intimidate teenage girls. But they’re both surprised when she doesn’t look the least bit intimidated, only tilting her head and arching her brows, expecting an answer._

_Jaha steps up, and Bellamy holds himself back from flinging all he has at the man who ordered his mother’s execution._

_“We thought it best if you didn’t go alone,” Jaha replies._

_The girl ducks her head, an expression of both sadness and resentment swimming across her face. “You mean, my mother didn’t want me to go alone.”_

_Jaha offers a kind smile, and Bellamy has to close his eyes at the sight of the insincere gesture. “This mission is about survival. We want you to live. You of all people should understand the importance of that. Of everything that relies on the success of that.”_

_“You want to fill me in?” Bellamy interrupts with an insolent tone, ignoring Kane’s warning glare. “Because I don’t know shit, unlike the princess here.”_

_Jaha comes up slowly, slinking up to him like the snake that he is, and Bellamy steels himself against the urge to step away. “You know everything you need to, Mr. Blake. I’m sure Councilor Kane has filled you in with the specifics,” he says, nodding to Kane. “As I’ve just reminded Clarke, your only job is to survive.”_

_Bellamy looks straight into the other man’s eyes. “Why,” he snarls._

_Jaha’s brows knit together, a smirk replacing his false smile, and Bellamy thinks he likes it better. No more hiding under the façade of a caring Chancellor. “Does it matter? Complete this mission, and you get what you were promised.”_

_“And how do I know you’ll keep your word?”_

_Kane pushes between them aggressively. “Would you like it better if we scrapped our deal altogether, Blake?”_

_Jaha sets a hand on Kane’s shoulder, giving the man a friendly pat. “It’s alright, Marcus. Mr. Blake,” he sighs, “the truth is, you don’t know. But this is the only chance Octavia has.”_

_Bellamy blinks at the sound of his sister’s name coming from Jaha’s mouth._

_“I suggest, if you want her to live, you accept our deal. Otherwise…”_

_And the absolute hatred Bellamy has for this man, for everything he represents, is sickening as it grows in the pit of his stomach and curls around his heart. He’s no longer the man he was before – never will be again. He no longer recognizes himself in the mirror, the too long hair, and lonely, miserable eyes looking back. He hates the stranger who he’s become, but he hates Jaha even more for turning him into it._

_He can feel the hold on his aggression slipping, and he clenches his jaw. It doesn’t help though, and his fists begin to curl despite himself. Kane stands tense beside him, sensing his fury as it mounts higher._

_Then Bellamy catches the blonde gleam of hair on the other side of the room. He’d forgotten about the girl. She watches the standoff, her blue eyes large and anxious, and she gives an imperceptible shake of her head. It’s such small gesture, so minute, he wonders if she even knows she’s doing it. But it eases something within him, the tight hold of black revulsion controlling him._

_“Fine,” he mutters, not looking away from her shining blue eyes that are keeping him grounded, and which remind him so much of Octavia’s._

_Jaha’s smile returns as he takes a step back. “Good. Bellamy Blake, meet Clarke Griffin.” He signals for a guard to remove the girl’s cuffs. “And if both of you will hold out your right arms, we can get started.”_

This girl hates Jaha as much as him. For that at least, she deserves to live.

“Clarke,” he begs, finally remembering what to call her. “Clarke, c’mon.”

His heart skips a beat when he hears her mumble incoherently, her head rolling against her seat. He sighs with relief.

Her throat works as she swallows, and her eyelids flutter open. Her eyes are bleary, dazed as she stares at him blankly, blinking at him, slow and silent.

“Are you alright?” he asks gently. She doesn’t answer, and his joy at her being alive is beginning to fade into concern that she might actually be seriously injured. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyes begin to roam, taking in the room around them. He thinks that must be a good sign as he tries to keep the rag to her head wound while she moves. “Where am I?” she finally croaks.

He’s not sure how to answer – not sure how much she’s forgotten – so he decides to be honest. “Earth.”

Her head snaps back to him and she hisses, reaching for her injury. She finds his hand instead, puzzled at first before her fingers clasp around his.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, trying to keep her calm. “You’re okay.”

“Earth. We made it to the ground?” Her blue eyes are full of disbelief.

“We made it.”

And the sudden smile on her face is so wide and toothy, he can’t help but return it – at least a small one. He doesn’t remember the last time anyone’s smiled at him like that. She winces with a slight laugh, flinching in his hand, but her smile never disappears.

Sliding her fingers beneath his hand, she takes the rag from him.

“There is one problem though. Well, two if you count that,” he says, nodding at her head.

He hates to be the bearer of bad news, but even knowing there’s a problem doesn’t seem to put a damper on her good mood.

“We didn’t actually land on the ground.”

“What do you mean?”

He leans out of her view so she can see out the windows, and her face lights up with a childlike awe.

“We’re underwater.”

Her jaw hangs open and he resists the urge to close it, chuckling at the floor, instead.

“Oh my god.” She tries to move closer but the belts at her chest hold her down. She scrambles to unclasp herself, pinching her fingers in the process, until finally she’s free, bending over the dash with her face as close as she can get it. “It’s beautiful,” she says, mesmerized at the sight in front of her, her breath fogging up the glass.

“Yeah it is. It’s also a problem.”

She looks at him over her shoulder as he stands.

“We can’t breathe underwater, princess.”

She purses her lips in annoyance as she turns to him, her features transforming into a more poised expression. But even still, he can see it as she has to hold herself up, keep her knees from buckling beneath her.

“I’m aware of that, thank you,” she retorts. “But we might not even be that far from the surface.”

“Or we might be miles from it.”

“I highly doubt that.”

He crosses his arms. “Oh, really? So you know where we are?”

“No,” she admits. “But there’s enough light coming from out there for us to see, which means we’re probably not that deep.”

He shakes his head. “But you don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t matter. We can’t… live in here forever.” They both look around the pod. Between the two seats and the dash, there was barely enough space for either of them to stand. “We don’t have a choice.”

She’s right, there really is no other choice. But just the thought of being out there with no way out. No _air_. It was almost as bad as being floated. Flashes of his mother invade his mind, standing in the airlock with tears streaming down her cheeks but defiance in her eyes. He pushes away the memories, trying his hardest not to think of her face just before—

“Okay,” he agrees, unsteady.

She raises her brows, surprised by his easy acceptance. “Okay.”

And the solidarity makes him feel a little stronger, a little braver… and little less lonely than he has in a very long time.

He clears his throat, turning away before she can see. “We should look for anything useful in here. Bring whatever we find with us. Who knows what we’ll need.”

So they spend the next several minutes searching the tiny escape pod, coming up with barely anything besides a pack, a small knife, and a canteen. It will all be very useful, he’s sure, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been hoping for something more.

“You’d think if this whole mission was about survival, they’d give us tools that would actually help us survive.”

She shakes her head, only answering his bitter words with a few of her own. “It’s the Council, what do you expect?”

He eyes her, curious how someone like her ended up here. He knows the surname Griffin, it’s the name of a council member. And that _can’t_ be a coincidence. And just from her haughty attitude alone, he knows that this girl is definitely not Factory born.

“I think that’s all we’re gonna find,” she says, resting back on her heels. She then lifts her fingers to her mouth, closing her eyes like she’s going to be sick.

“You alright?”

She presses her lips together. “Yeah. Fine.” She doesn’t look fine. She looks pale, even in this hazy light. But they have bigger things to worry about right now than her head injury. Which says a lot about their situation.

He peers one last time out the window, trying in vain to see if he can find the surface, but it’s just too dark – or perhaps too far. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispers this is how he’s going to die – drowned on a foreign planet.

He pushes it away. He refuses to die here, because if he dies, Octavia dies, and there was no way he was going to let that happen.

“You ready?”

She gives him a nod, scared but firm. His eyes catch a shock of red blood streaked in her blonde hair, and he might just be slightly impressed with her and how well she seems to be holding up.

He slings the pack over his shoulders before tying the wraps securely around his chest. “Once I open the door, there’s no going back.”

“I know,” she answers with a shaky breath.

“You swim as hard as you can, and you keep swimming. Whatever you do, don’t stop. Not until you reach the top.”

She swallows hard and gives him a look signaling her readiness one last time. They hold the bar running across the top of the pod, preparing themselves for the surge of water to come. He reaches for the lever with one hand, releasing a calming breath. And then he pulls.

He hears the groan of the door, a strangled hissing of hydraulics, but nothing happens.

Clarke frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

She sets her hand on his arm. “The water,” she starts with a sudden understanding. “The pressure outside is holding the door closed.”

And as if the ocean heard her words, there’s another groan just before a spray of cold water hits them in the face. They cry out, leaping away from the torrent, their backs hitting the opposite wall. The door is only slightly lifted though, and they watch in horror as water rushes in from around the edges of it.

“This is gonna be a problem,” she shouts over the noise, her voice bouncing off of the metal walls.

The pod is filling fast, already as high as their ankles. “A big problem.”

“We have to get this door open.”

He’s fascinated by her calm demeanor as she tries pushing the door open with her body, and he hurries to help, hoping that with their combined strength it’ll swing open. But it doesn’t even budge, and the water continues to pour inside, already at his calves.

His heart is hammering against his ribcage, pumping his blood at a furious pace as his stomach twists in knots.

“Okay, new plan,” he hollers, moving her out of the way. Holding the bar above him for leverage, he begins to kick at the door, grunting with every pound of his foot against the thick metal. The kicks reverberate up his leg and through his hip, and he knows he’s going to feel it later if he actually survives this. But as the water rises it slows his momentum, reducing the force of his strikes.

“This isn’t working,” Clarke shouts at him.

“You got any better ideas?” She only stares at him, her face fallen and eyes frantic. “I didn’t think so.”

With both hands on the bar, he lifts himself fully from the water, trying to hold himself up as he continues to kick with the full weight of his body. He hesitates when he sees Clarke, metal rod in hand. She lodges it firmly in the gap that’s gushing with water, trying to pry the door open.

Bellamy drops down with a splash, the water now at his chest, and he comes around to face her, setting his hands just outside of hers on the rod, pulling as she pushes, both of them gritting their teeth as they strain. For a second he thinks it might actually work, if they can keep this up long enough they might get free. Then the rod suddenly snaps, and he falls back into the cold water.

His nose flares, face twisting with fury and he throws the broken piece of metal in a fit of rage, roaring in frustration.

He refuses to die like this. He refuses to let _Octavia_ die because he couldn’t open a goddamn door.

The water climbs higher, and all they can do now is push, trying to hold their heads above the surface as they do.

Clarke cries out his name in a panic, and it’s the last thing he hears before the water rises above his ears. He quickly takes a deep breath before it can cover his face.

It’s strange being fully submerged. It’s a feeling unlike any he’s ever felt before, a sort of dead calm – not matching at all with the frenzied, wild rage of adrenaline racing in his veins.

He sees blonde hair gliding beside him followed by Clarke, and he knows that the pod must be completely filled now. Her jaw is clenched as she pushes, her face squeezed tight while she shoves with what little strength she has. And he tells himself that if they ever get out of this, he won’t ever let her past – whatever the hell it might be – blind him.

He releases the last bit of air from his lungs, and he groans at the burn that starts to smolder within them. He’s desperate to breathe in, to end the inferno inside him, but he can’t let go. Black spots begin dotting his vision, until all he can see his Clarke’s determined face in front of him. And he knows it’s over when he closes his eyes, water pouring down his throat. He only thinks of Octavia, and how sorry he is that he’s failed her yet again.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke’s heart leaps as the door swings up, her chest bursting with happiness.

The air in her lungs is nearly gone, but all she has to do now is swim. She turns to Bellamy. He’s floating motionless beside her, and her stomach drops until she notices his closed eyes.  

She still has time.

She doesn’t even think about it, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him to her. She wraps an arm around him from behind, thrusting them both out of the pod and into the open water.

They’re surrounded in blue – dark and cold and infinite. It closes in around her, pushing down, down, down, and panic begins to trickle in, clouding her mind and highjacking her thoughts. It whispers to her that she’s never swam a day in her life, that she’ll never make it – especially with the burden of Bellamy. He feels like a stone, becoming heavier every second, pulling her deeper – but she fights the fear, gripping him a tighter to her chest.

The ticking clock slows and she slows with it, her muscles aching and lungs burning, until it stops altogether.

She’s out of time.

She cries out, but it’s silent underwater. Death is silent underwater. Bubbles ascend from her open mouth until they disappear, bursting at the top—

Her eyes open wide.

The surface was just there. So close. They were _so close_.

Excitement fires through her limbs, giving her one last push, one last burst of energy. And she uses it. She thinks of her mom – of her dad. Thinks of his smile when he’d sing to her, of the times he encouraged her drawing, showing her the sketches he’d make and challenge her to do the same. To do better, be stronger – to never give up or give in.

And before she knows it, she’s crashing through, shooting up and taking in the biggest breath she ever has, the oxygen scraping the inside of her lungs as she coughs uncontrollably.

She makes certain Bellamy’s head is above the surface, lying it back on her shoulder as she twists their bodies in the churning water. She scans their surroundings, squinting in the sun before she catches sight of a rocky outcrop not far ahead.

It’s difficult as she pulls herself up on the black rocks while simultaneously trying keep Bellamy from slipping under. But once she’s up, she begins the strenuous job of hauling him up as well. She grunts and she groans, her arms shaking with his weight – which is even heavier with his sopping clothes – until his body lands heavily atop her, knocking the air from her lungs.

She doesn’t waste any time, her nimble fingers quickly going to work as she checks for a pulse and finds none. Without panicking, she unties and tugs at his pack, yanking it off and lying him flat on his back.

She begins chest compressions, just like her mother taught her, before lifting his chin and pinching his nose. She breathes once, twice, three times before hovering her ear over his mouth waiting for any signs of breath. When she feels none, she once again starts compressions, repeating the process twice more before she truly starts to worry.

The sharp rocks dig into her knees, and her head throbs, but she ignores it all in her desperate attempt to revive him. “Come on, Bellamy.” She pushes air into his lungs, trying to drive the saltwater out.

They’ve come this far, and he can’t die now. She can’t do this alone – doesn’t _want_ to. She’s been in solitary confinement for nearly a year, and she doesn’t think she can do it again – certainly not for the rest of her life.

“Come _on_ ,” she demands, her mind becoming a frenzied mess with every second that passes. Her chest constricts and she can feel the hopelessness spreading within her. “Wake up,” she pleads. “Please, wake up.”

Bellamy’s body suddenly jerks, coughing and sputtering up water all over himself. She’s motionless as she gapes down at him, her fingers locked together, hovering over his chest in shock. She snaps herself out of it, rolling him on his side as he expels the liquid from his lungs.

“Bellamy,” she breathes in amazement, stroking back his hair, her heart exploding in her chest.

His eyes are closed as he wheezes, sluggishly raising his hand to hold her forearm. Whether it’s meant as a thank you or just because he needs something solid to hold on to, she’s not sure.

“You’re okay.” She repeats it like a mantra, over and over.

He blinks at the bright light above him when his eyes crack open. “I saw my mom,” he rasps out.

She has no idea what to say to that, not wanting to tell him that what he saw was probably just a hallucination due to the lack of oxygen reaching his brain. “It’s okay. Just rest now, okay.”

His eyes close easily, as if he’d only been waiting for permission.

The pain and discomfort flood within her, and she now feels everything as her adrenaline evaporates. Her stomach churns and her head throbs, and exhaustion practically claws at her mind – at her body. It drags her down and she no longer has the strength left to fight it as she lowers her head beside Bellamy’s shoulder, curling herself into a fetal position. And soon everything is blissfully black.

xxxxxxxxx

When she opens her eyes she’s confused. There’s nothing there. No light, no color. The world around her remains an inky black, and she thinks that perhaps her eyes aren’t really open at all. Perhaps she’s still asleep, drifting in a dreamless slumber.

Then her senses grudgingly begin to wake. There’s a crashing sound of waves, the rhythmic rise and fall of her head. A heartbeat thrums beneath her ear and she can just make out the sight of legs splayed out in the darkness – too long to be her own.

But soon a weight pulls her under and it all drifts away.

xxxxxxxxx

This time when she wakes, the world is bright – too bright – and she immediately screws her eyes shut against it. She moans, raising her hand to shield herself from the glaring sunlight, allowing her eyes to adjust as she opens them more carefully.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna wake up.”

She takes a moment before pushing up onto her elbows, grimacing at her sore limbs and aching head. Bellamy sits beside her, gazing out over the rolling waves with a pensive expression, curls blowing in the wind.

“Funny,” she says, word scratching painfully up her throat, “that’s what I was thinking about you, yesterday.”

He glances at her, and she wonders what’s going on in his head. Then again, she doesn’t even know what the hell’s going on in her own.

“Thank you,” he says, solemn. “Thank you for saving my life.”

The immensity of what she’d actually done the day before hits her, leaving her at a loss for words. Merely shrugging a shoulder, she mutters, “Of course.”

He thumbs the metal band on his wrist, looking down at it dejectedly. “Does that mean this thing is pointless?”

She tries to wet her cracked lips, but her tongue is just as dry. “No. I restarted your heart – obviously. It should be transmitting that now.”

He eyes the waves in front them once more, working his jaw. She doesn’t know anything about him, but from the short conversation she overheard between him and Jaha, she thinks she has an idea of why he’s here.

She inhales deeply, taking in their surroundings, letting Earth soak into her senses. The calm, turquoise water sparkles beneath the sun, like a mirror under the dazzling light. A smell of sulfur and brine – mixed with another tangy scent she can’t identify – waft in the air as the ocean laps at the white sand of the beach. She eyes the sandy shore with eagerness – she can’t wait to feel it. Beyond that lies so much _green_. A tropical setting that stretches out for as far as she can see.

It’s breathtaking. A true paradise. But it’s also bittersweet.

“This isn’t where we’re supposed to be,” she admits softly.

“I figured,” Bellamy sighs heavily.

“I don’t know where we are.” Their map was long gone, but she doubts it would be very useful anyways.

He’s silent, unmoving. “I know.”

Neither of them speak after that. Each just taking in the reality of their situation.

If they landed this far off course, there was no way they would ever be found, even if the Ark does follow them down. So here they are, trapped in paradise – alone forever.

Except for each other.

Her stomach chooses this moment to growl, gurgling in a long, drawn out demand to be fed. Her hand flies to it as if to stop the noise before Bellamy can hear it.

He chuckles, a deep, happy sound that eases the gloominess of her mind. “I’m hungry, too. We should start looking for food before it gets dark again.”

“No,” she counters with a shake of her head – which she immediately regrets when a stabbing pain lashes through it. It starts at her injury and webs out around her entire skull, and she closes her eyes until it fades somewhat. “We should search for water first.”

He stands in a silent agreement, groaning with stiff muscles and popping bones. She can relate, feeling like one big, throbbing bruise herself.

They tread carefully across the jagged, slippery surface, Clarke only having to grab for Bellamy’s jacket once when she stumbles – both of them freezing in place until she finds her footing. But the headland doesn’t reach out far, and soon they’re on the beach. A few steps in, and she can’t help but sink down, plunging her fingers into the sand.

She giggles at the feel of the fine, coarseness of it. It’s warm, almost hot, and abrasive as it sticks to her damp skin.

“Been waiting to do that for a while?” Bellamy asks with a smirk.

“It feels so strange.”

“I’m sure it does.”

She looks back at him, biting her lip sheepishly under his indulgent smile. It’s kind of beautiful, his smile, and a tingly sensation tickles her belly.

She turns away, trying to stand in the shifting sand. “C’mon, let’s go. We probably only have a few hours until nightfall.”

xxxxxxxxx

If the beach was hot and dry, the jungle is an entirely different beast. It’s just as hot, only ten times worse with its dense, verdant canopy holding in the heat like some sort of pressure cooker. The smells, a strange mixture of sickly sweet and a rotting muskiness. It’s overwhelming when coupled with the humidity, all of it making it difficult to breathe much less hike through the thick undergrowth.

Bellamy is drenched in sweat, beads of it rolling down his face and stinging his eyes. He uses the crook of his elbow to wipe it off, but it returns just as quick. He carries his jacket, removing it almost as soon as they began their trek inland.

He peeks over his shoulder, checking on the quiet blonde behind him. Her head is drooped low as she watches her feet, her overheated cheeks a bright pink against her pale skin. She carries her jacket too, but unlike him, her shirt is long-sleeved and tight, and he knows she must be dying in it.

“You doing alright back there?”

“Yeah,” she answers in a small voice, not even faltering in her mindless trudge forward.

When he stops she doesn’t notice, just plodding ahead as if nothing’s changed. He holds out a hand to her stomach as she starts to pass him, halting her and finally making her look up.

“What?” she snaps at him with frown.

He cocks his head at her sharp tone, trying his hardest not to return it. “Let’s take a break.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, batting his hand away.

“Well, I’m not.” He leans against a tree, sliding down into a crouched position at the base of it.

She scoffs, eying him with disappointment. “Bellamy, we need to find water. We’re already feeling the effects of dehydration.”

“I agree.”

“So get up,” she orders, enunciating each word.

He finds her attitude a mix of annoying and entertaining. “Princess—”

She rolls her eyes at the nickname, pushing her tongue into her cheek.

“—we’ve been hiking through this damn jungle for at least half an hour. I’m fucking exhausted. You’re fucking exhausted. If there’s water somewhere, we’ll find it. We can take a five minute break, it’s not going anywhere.”

“No, but the sun _is_. A five minute break is five minutes of daylight we lose. And by tomorrow, searching for water is going to be even harder on our bodies. Do you have any idea what dehydration does to you? How quickly it takes effect? We don’t have time to waste, Bellamy.”

He scrubs a hand down his face, trying to remind himself how tired and afraid they both are. Starting an argument here in the middle of this furnace was not going to help. Not to mention, it would only waste more of their diminishing energy.

“Coconuts,” he says, the answer coming to him suddenly. And she stares at him like he’s lost it. “Coconuts have water. They’re all over the beach.”

She sighs at her feet. “It won’t be enough,” she states quietly.

“It will for now.”

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke collects a small armful of coconuts scattered along the shrubs between the beach and the jungle. When she returns to Bellamy, he’s lodging a sharpened stick into the ground, testing the sturdiness of it once he’s finished.

Their fingers brush, eyes meeting as she passes him the fruit.

“Let’s hope this works,” he sighs with a somber edge.

He smashes it on the stick over and over again, turning it as the green husk slowly begins to crack open. He wedges the point of the stick between the husk and the shell, pushing down with the weight of his body.

The slow, arduous process takes about five minutes. Once he’s finished his breath is ragged, and he’s drenched in sweat all over again. He tears away at the last of the remaining husk, looking up at her with a proud smile. “Not too bad.”

He uses their knife to make a hole through the soft eye, then holds it out for her. She shakes her head, and his face falls.

“You first,” she hurries to explain before he gets the wrong impression. “You did all that work to open it. You deserve it.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes at the coconut. “And I did it for you. Just take the damn coconut, Clarke.”

She accepts it reluctantly, her mouth watering; or it would be anyway, if it wasn’t as dry as the sand on the beach. She presses the small eye to her lips, tipping her head back and humming in satisfaction as the bitter liquid drains into her mouth.

It’s not a lot, and it doesn’t taste the best, but it’s good for now.  “There’s not a lot in here.”

His exhales loud and hard. “No. There is in those, though,” he tells her, pointing up with his knife at the coconuts that hang from the top of the nearest tree.

Her eyes slowly trail up the tall, thin trunk. “Up there?”

“Yep.”

She raises an eyebrow with a huff. “Well we’re never getting those. We need to find a real source of water.”

“Oh come on, Clarke.” He gives her a teasing, lopsided grin. “It’s not that high. Can’t you climb?”

“No. And neither can you,” she points out. “Where did you learn to do this anyways?” she asks, observing diligently as he attempts to open the shell.

“I didn’t _always_ sleep during Earth Skills.”

She snorts, unable to help the curl of her lips. “ _I_ may have.”

“Really?” he asks with a grin of disbelief, surprised that perhaps she wasn’t the perfect student. “What a pair we make.”

It was more than obvious that neither of them were chosen for this mission because of their _abundant_ knowledge of survival skills.  

The coconut splits apart in an almost perfect circle down the middle, and Bellamy scoops out the meat with his knife. They share their first meal together on Earth, and while it’s not exactly the dinner her stomach had been begging for, it was certainly better than nothing.

The pale blue of the sky steadily gives way to the darkness of night, the setting sun casting its last rays of pink and orange over the ocean.

“We’ll be okay,” Bellamy says, his husky voice calm and soothing as they watch the sunset.

“I know.” And she’s surprised to find that she believes it. She barely knows the man beside her, but as long as they stick together, they just might survive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably wait a little longer to post this, but I have no self control. Thank you for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks. You guys make me smile :) Sorry for any mistakes. Enjoy!

The rhythmic swell of waves is the first thing Bellamy becomes conscious of – comforting even as he sleeps in such a dark, unfamiliar place. But it’s soon disturbed by an awful sound of retching.

His eyes fly open, reaching out to Clarke’s spot beside him, finding only sand and dirt. He panics, heart clutching tight until he catches the outline of her blonde hair and grey shirt against the black water. She’s hunched over at the shore, back lurching with every heave.

He watches her with an equal measure of sympathy and concern. If she couldn’t keep down what little they had, then finding water just became even more important.

When she returns she’s quiet, weariness radiating from her.

“Are you alri—”

“I’m _fine_.” She throws her head back down onto her jacket, facing away from him.

He closes his eyes, pleading for patience as he rolls his head on his neck, stretching the tense muscles there. He stays awake for awhile, unable to fall back asleep even to the lulling sound of waves crashing against the reef.

With the hush of night comes thoughts of his sister. He’ll never know if the Council keeps their word; never know if Octavia will be allowed to live. And he dies a little bit inside at the thought of never seeing her again.

_“The Council has decided to assess the planet. To test if it’s survivable.”_

_It’s crazy, Bellamy thinks. But Kane’s hard face and stoic eyes don’t seem insane. So maybe they’re all just stupid. A definite possibility._

_“And I’m here, because we need a volunteer.”_

_Bellamy parts his lips as he begins to understand. “Well I’m sure as hell not volunteering.”_

_“Oh, I think you will.”_

_Bellamy’s brows crash together as he glares._

_“We’ve been told that you were an exemplary cadet. Strong minded. Hard working. And that’s exactly what we need.”_

_“I don’t care_ _about what you_ need _,” Bellamy retorts._

_Kane lifts his chin, looking down his nose at him. “You care about your sister’s needs though.”_

_A sense of foreboding starts to accumulate within him. “What the hell does this have to do with Octavia?”_

_“Her review will be coming up in what? Two more years?” Kane asks rhetorically as he begins to slowly circle Bellamy. “It’ll be here faster than you think.”_

_Bellamy licks his lips. Octavia’s review was always lurking in the back of his mind. He tried not to worry about it, telling himself that his mother already paid for the crime and therefore they had no reason to punish Octavia as well. But… there was still that chance – the chance that his little sister could be floated into space just like his mother._

_And then he really would be all alone._

_“But there may be a way we can ensure that it goes well.”_

_He closes his eyes with a disgusted shake of his head. These fucking assholes and their games. Octavia was his only weakness, of course they would use her against him. “You want me to go to Earth, and you’ll let Octavia live.”_

_Kane doesn’t answer, which is fine, because it wasn’t really a question._

_“How important is your sister to you, Mr. Blake?”_

xxxxxxxxx

The next morning Bellamy cracks two more coconuts for breakfast. Clarke hesitates to eat any more, but he urges her to anyways, reminding her that she’ll need her strength if they were going to once again brave the jungle in search of water.

She throws it up a few minutes later.

He crouches beside her, eyes fixed on the injury above her ear as she washes away any remaining bile from her mouth. It’d stopped bleeding soon after they got here, but that didn’t mean that something wasn’t wrong. She admitted to headaches, as well as bouts of dizziness, waving it away like it was no big deal, but the slight quiver in her voice gave away her fear.

He doesn’t let her see it, but it scares the hell out of him.

“Maybe I should go alone. You stay here—”

“No,” she interrupts, steady and composed, like she hadn’t been puking up her guts just a minute before. “We shouldn’t separate. What if you get lost out there?”

Bellamy huffs, insulted. “We could both get lost, princess.”

“But at least we’d be together,” she says, suddenly earnest.

She’s afraid of being alone, too, he realizes.

So they search the damn jungle together for an hour, finding nothing except disappointment and an even bleaker mindset.

It’s on their way back to the beach that Bellamy notices them. He and Clarke are immersed in green, every direction for as far as they can see – which isn’t very far with the dense vegetation – so it’s the hint of yellow that catches his eye.

The fruits hang enticingly from a moderately sized tree, luring them in until they stand beneath. They both stare up longingly before glancing back down at each other in unison.

“We shouldn’t,” Clarke warns, but he can hear the trembling of want in her voice.

He reaches up, picking one that dangles from a low branch. It’s soft – squishy. It’s texture, slick and bumpy.

“We don’t know what they are. They could be poisonous or— _Bellamy_!”

He carves a small chunk out with his teeth. It’s crisp yet bland, though not nearly as bland as the coconut, and he moves it around in his mouth, letting the juice paint his desperate tongue.

Clarke watches with bated breath, scrutinizing him for any ill side-effects.

“It’s good,” he announces casually as he chews.

She only responds with an impatient sigh.

He ignores it, offering her the soft fruit. She regards it warily, but still with so much want, and he can see it in her eyes the moment she finally gives in. But instead of taking it from him, she places both her hands over his larger one, leaning in to take a bite while he continues to hold it.

His stares dumbly, gaping at the sight of her as her teeth sink into the delicate, yellow flesh while holding his hand steady.

“Mmm. It tastes kind of…” She chews for second, her brows coming together as she tries to think of something to compare it to, all but oblivious to his mental breakdown. “Minty. Like a sweet minty flavor.”

She peers up when he doesn’t respond, his mind still stuck on the image of her using his fucking hand to take a bite into her fruit. She blinks, her breath hitching, and he can tell that she knows exactly what he’s thinking about. Her eyes flit to the ground, a crooked finger pressed demurely against her lips as she finishes chewing.

She shuffles around him, out of his line of sight, raising herself on her toes as she reaches for another. “We should collect them. If it turns out they’re not poisonous, we can save some for later.”

He tries not take her avoidance of the situation personally. Honestly, he’s not sure why it should even bother him, but it stings nonetheless. He covers it, stating dryly, “Well, at least if we die, we die together, right?”

She holds still for a moment, blinking down at the fruit in her hand. “Right.”

They pick a few more, but Clarke quickly gives up, allowing him to do it when she notices how much easier he can reach them.

“Probably wouldn’t be so good for the rest of the Ark though.” She says it out of the blue, breaking the awkward silence between them. It takes him a moment to remember what it was they’d been discussing.

Crouching down, he drops another handful of the minty fruit into their pack before zipping it. “What do you mean?”

“I doubt they’ll come down if we’re _both_ dead.”

He freezes before gazing up at her. “What are you talking about?”

She tilts her head, expression full of pity. “They really didn’t tell you anything.”

It takes a minute, but his eyes close when it all falls into place. “That’s why they’re monitoring us. That’s why they need to know if the earth is survivable. They want to come down.” He swallows sadly. Even if they do come down, there’s hardly a chance that they’ll land anywhere near here. Nothing’s changed really. Even if they’re on the same planet, he’ll still never see Octavia again.

“The Ark is dying,” she announces quietly, tentatively, and an anxious sick feeling begins to rise in his stomach.

“They’re running out of oxygen.” Her teeth sink into her bottom limp. “They have about six months left. My dad found a flaw in…”

His vision starts to narrow, and all he can see is Octavia’s face, smiling and happy, till it suddenly transforms into a terrified, pleading look. The same look she gave him at the dance, when he’d done nothing but stand and watch as they dragged her away.

Clarke’s hand is firm on his shoulder, her fingers giving a subtle pressure that pulls him back into the present.

“She’ll be okay,” she whispers.

He doesn’t move, still immobilized by his worry for Octavia, but he vaguely wonders how Clarke knows about her.

Jaha must’ve told her all about him, about his family and his past. He hates how he feels embarrassed by it – ashamed of it. He knows he shouldn’t – knows he has no reason to. He did nothing wrong, and neither did his mother. They survived as best they could with what little they were given by the Council and the upper class. It was _their_ fault.

 _Her_ fault.

It’s more than obvious she’s one of them, one of the privileged. And of course he has to be stuck here alone with her for the rest of his miserable life.

But then he remembers the promise he made in the escape pod, remembers that she’s saved his ass more than once. And instead of shrugging her off, he merely stands, unable to look at her for the time being. “We should start heading back.”

Their legs are quivering by the time they drop down onto the dirt, breathing in the salty ocean air with hard breaths. They gorge themselves on the minty fruit. Bellamy doesn’t think he’s ever been so hungry before – which is probably the reason why these bland fruits are the best thing he’s ever tasted. Then again, there’s not much competition on the Ark with their processed rations. Every nutrient, protein, and calorie measured out perfectly for every Ark resident. Only he and his mother hadn’t really ever gotten enough, had they? Since a third of both their rations went to Octavia.

It was hard caring for a person that wasn’t supposed to exist.

He and Clarke lay back on the ground, staring up at the green leaves rustling against the blue sky; bellies full for the first time since they landed. The last thing he thinks of before passing out is that Clarke was able to keep her food down, and he hopes that means things might actually be getting better for them despite how weak he feels.

xxxxxxxxx

She doesn’t remember what she was dreaming about – can’t even recall if it was good or bad. So she doesn’t mind too much when she’s woken by the downpour.

It startles her at first, unsure of what the hell is going on. Then rain sluices down her face, warm but still refreshing, and she slides her eyes closed in relief. Bellamy huffs, lips curving up slightly and he tilts his head back. He makes his way out to the open beach, mouth wide as he tries to catch the sporadic drops. And that’s when she has an idea.

He looks down at her when she comes up beside him, sees the canteen in her hand as she holds it out. After finding a suitable leaf, she’d rolled it into the shape of a funnel, placing it inside the neck of the bottle.

“That’s smart,” he praises loudly over the deluge.

“Probably won’t catch much.”

“Better than nothing.” That seems to be their motto.

The downpour ends just as quick as it began, leaving their hair and clothes plastered to their bodies.

She shakes the canteen. From what she can tell, it’s only filled about a quarter of the way. She could drink it all in just a few gulps if she really wanted to. And she really, really wants to.

She offers it to Bellamy and he shakes his head. “You first.”

She brings it to her lips, never having felt such an intense craving like this for anything in her life. And it’s amazingly refreshing as it flows into her mouth, swishing around her swollen tongue. She almost hates to swallow it, but her throat is just as thirsty and she gives in.

She tries not to be greedy, tearing it away from herself with a twinge of regret before she can drink the entire thing.

Bellamy takes it without protest, and she watches with fascination as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. The sight of it starts up that tingly feeling again.

She’s surprised there’s some left when he passes back the canteen, and she forces herself to screw the cap on instead of finishing it off. “We should save it.”

She stashes it in the pack, oblivious to Bellamy’s deception.

xxxxxxxxx

He doesn’t crack anymore coconuts despite how thirsty they both are. Vomiting it back up is only making things worse. But he’s always eyeing the ones in the trees. They really aren’t that far up – maybe fifty feet, give or take. It’s just a question of if can he actually get up there without falling and breaking his damn neck.

They also need shelter. They’d constructed a simple lean-to made of thin branches and palm fronds, and while it was nice to have a roof over his head while he slept, it simply wasn’t enough to protect them from the elements. They would have to build something solid and longer lasting if they were truly going to survive down here.

Clarke sleeps beside him under the lean-to – shafts of sunlight beaming down on her between the narrow leaves. She was usually always sleeping now, and he was usually always watching her – watching the rise and fall of her chest, constantly worried that one day her shallow breathing would just… stop. She refused to eat anymore, telling him that she just wasn’t hungry. He believes her, because he curiously no longer feels the angry, twisting pangs of hunger either. Though he still forces himself to have a minty fruit or two throughout the day.

He wishes he could sleep, too. He wants to lie back and ignore his racing heart and uneven breaths that, no matter how long or often he rests, he can never seem to catch.

He pushes up, fighting through the lethargy and exhaustion as he ducks from beneath their tiny shelter.

Things weren’t getting better. If anything, they were very slowly getting worse. They’re dying, he admits to himself.

He digs through the fruit in their bag till he finds the now empty canteen. Clarke had finished what was left of their water the day before at his demand. He may be dying, but it’s more than obvious that she’s a little closer to death than him at this point.

He shoves the canteen in one of the pockets of his cargos. He needs to carry as less weight as possible, and slugging that damn pack around was only going to slow him down. Eyeing Clarke’s sleeping form one last time, he makes his way inland. He’s either going to find water, or he’s going to die trying, because sitting here _waiting_ for death is something he refuses to do anymore.

xxxxxxxxx

He’s not sure how long he’s been out here – it feels like hours – but for the last fifteen minutes he’s been hiking up. It’s not a mountain by any means, but it’s certainly more than a hill, and he’s very close to just finding a nice rotting log to rest against and sit forever. But then he thinks of Clarke under their rickety lean-to, blue eyes dark and sunken in; Octavia sitting alone in lockup, her very life depending on his own; and it’s enough to give him that little push to keep going – for a while longer at least.

He’s found a bit of water – dew more like – sitting untouched on a few of the larger leaves. It also helps to keep him moving, though he knows it’s nowhere near enough to replace the amount of fluid he’s losing through sweat.

His legs feel like jelly, and his body hangs low, and he’s long since given up on his fight against not scratching at the tiny bug bites along his hands and arms – it almost makes him wish he’d worn his jacket.

A wave of dizziness forces him to stop, though he refuses to sit – he’s too afraid he won’t be able to stand back up again. He leans against a tree, bracing his hand on the rough bark and spongy moss, dropping his chin till it brushes his chest. The light-headedness passes slowly, and he releases a long, drawn out breath between pursed lips.

When he opens his eyes, he has no idea what to think about the bones at his feet.

He blinks at them.

There’s a trail of them, and they lead him to a skeleton – because of course they do, this is hell after all. It’s mostly hidden beneath the underbrush of the jungle floor, and Bellamy does his best to clear it away. Any clothes this person might’ve been wearing is long gone – as well as one of the arms. But frowning down at it, it almost appears as if he – or she – had been crawling away.

He scans the immediate area, searching for any clues as to who this person was and how they got here. He walks the path they probably crawled, bending between fallen trees and squeezing between bamboo shoots, only to come up against a wall of dense foliage.

He’s getting off track, wasting precious time and energy, but he can’t help but wonder – hope – that just maybe this might lead to… something.

The vines and bushes snap and shake as he wrenches them away. Whatever’s buried beneath is solid, and he works himself into a frenzy to get to it. When he finally does he takes a step back, jaw slack with his harsh breathing and brows furrowed as he stares at the scorched, corroded metal.

An escape pod.

And he understands. Suicide by Earth.

That’s what this’d been. Only this poor bastard obviously hadn’t died on impact. He’d probably been injured after the crash, crawling away from his pod only to die in the middle of a sweltering, unforgiving wilderness.

Bellamy finds the door quickly, but it’s rusted shut and he wonders why the hell it’s even closed to begin with. When he pries it open, its hinges groan and squeak in protest, and he immediately whips his head away, holding a hand to his nose, eyes watering at the overpowering, musty scent that escapes into the open air.

Coughing – or gagging more like – he attempts to examine the interior. It’s small, smaller than the one he and Clarke came down in. Meant for a single passenger. He’s about to release the door, let it fall and slam shut when he notices the black duffle bag behind the seat.

His first thought is water, but he quickly squashes that hope. This has obviously been sitting here for a while, and any water there might’ve been has long since evaporated. He reaches inside, pulling the bag forward, the rough fabric scratching across the metal floor.

He remembers learning about Christmas on the Ark. At the time, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like, the anticipation of secret gifts waiting just for you, the excitement one would feel finally tearing into them. Unzipping this black bag, he thinks it was probably a lot like this.

He was right to keep expectations low. There’s no water here, but a wide smile stretches across his face at the plethora of “gifts” he’s given instead.

First thing he fishes out is a broken compass and cracked mirror. He’s not sure how much help either of those will be, but he knows they’ll find some sort of use for them. Next, he comes up with a hard, plastic case. He studies it for a moment before setting it on top of the bag, unlocking the black clasps at the front. It’s packed tight with plastic baggies of all different sizes. They hold gauze and bandages, needles and thread, and bottles with names he couldn’t pronounce even if he tried. Clarke will definitely be thrilled with that one.

The deeper he searches the more excited he becomes. Plastic containers, and a small metal pot, tools of all sorts along with an axe. He has to take a moment, bowing his head till it rests on the lip of the pod, laughing with relief – perhaps a bit deliriously. But for the first time in days he actually feels happy and optimistic.

His laughter fades, leaving behind a loose smile. He thinks about having to lug all this shit back to camp. It’ll be tough – grueling even – but it’ll all be worth it just to see Clarke’s ashen face light up for the first time in days.

He closes his eyes with contentment, trying to prepare himself for the long trek ahead. And that’s when he hears it. It can’t be real – he’s at the point of his dehydration where he totally believes he could be hallucinating. But as he strains his ears, it doesn’t disappear. If anything, it gets stronger.

He swallows at the sound, suddenly more thirsty than he has been since they landed.

Pushing off the pod, he tromps through bushy shrubs that catch at his pants, tearing the fabric as he becomes careless and hurried. Branches slap and scratch at his face but he doesn’t even notice. He struggles and he fights before shoving his way through, nearly falling on his face when the thick vegetation abruptly ends, opening into a clearing of smooth bleached stone. He’s taken aback, speechless at the sight – at the sudden lack of green – but the sound of rushing water clears his mind, and his eyes snap to it.

Just a few yards away is a tan rock face reaching about as high as his shoulders, water cascading off it in a clear sheet, down into the slow moving stream below.

He’s beside it in an instant, dunking his head into the cool water as it flows around him, gulping down as much as he can. He sits up once he’s had his fill, breathing hard as he stares at his reflection. He can’t believe it. Almost doesn’t – afraid of waking up to find out that this is only a very vivid dream. But it’s here, and it’s real, and because of it he and Clarke might actually have a chance.

He makes the decision to bring Clarke to the clearing. Hauling water through the jungle as they need it would only be a pain in the ass, and just surviving was hard enough. He spends some more time drinking, dipping his head beneath the fall to clean off the sweat and grime and wake himself up – he now has two more long trips to make.

xxxxxxxxx

The white, foamy surf rolls up the beach, encircling her boots before pulling back into the ocean. She doesn’t shy away from it, her arms wrapped loosely around her legs, just watching apathetically as it comes closer with every lap.

Bellamy’s been gone for well over an hour, perhaps even more since she’s unsure how long she’d been asleep before he left. She tried not to worry in the beginning, telling herself that he was probably foraging – despite the fact that they have plenty of fruit and neither of them really eat much anymore.

Of course, there are other explanations, like exploring and scavenging. But it starts to become harder to lie to herself with the more time that passes, her already increased breathing and heartrate quicken with a fear that pierces her chest.

She keeps herself busy by struggling – and failing – to open a coconut on her own, but she just doesn’t have the energy for it. Nor does she really want it. She’s fairly certain they’re what had been making her sick to begin with.

So now she sits on the beach. Waiting. Worrying. Attempting not to let her mind run wild with all sorts of horrible situations Bellamy could’ve gotten himself into.

She fails at that, too.

But another part of her wonders if the reason he hasn’t returned yet, is simply because he doesn’t want to. What if he’d grown tired of her, of watching her get sicker every day? What if he’d cut his losses and ran? Dropping the weight of her just as she’d nearly dropped him in the ocean.

She tells herself she’s not angry about it, that she doesn’t feel betrayed and abandoned. He probably has a better chance out there on his own. And in the end, it would be a good thing, because it would mean that at least one of them can live, signaling to the Ark that it’s safe to come down.

 _It’s a good thing_.

Bending forward, she presses her lips to her knees, eyes peeking over them to watch the tumultuous waves as they crash into each other. It’s all she hears, booming in her ears and thrumming inside her, until it’s pierced by Bellamy’s voice as he calls her name. She goes still – eyes wide before snapping shut. The relief is overpowering, springing up from where she’d held down the fear and anxiety of being left alone. Her throat is tight and her eyes are swimming with tears until they stream down her face in a flood she can no longer control.

Her reaction is terrifying as she realizes just how lost she is without him – how much she depends on him to keep herself going.

“Clarke.”

He’s closer now, only a few feet away, and she can hear the breathlessness in his voice. Roughly wiping away the tears on her cheeks, she turns and stands, her feet sinking into the soggy sand as the wind whips her tangled hair around her. His face is haggard and drawn until his eyes catch hers, and he brightens for a split second until he sees her desolate expression.

He sees it, what his leaving her has done to her, and he looks her up and down sorrowfully while she stares at him with so much emotion she can’t even speak.

“ _Clarke_ ,” he breathes out, sorry and remorseful. It awakens something within her, and she shoves at his chest causing him to stagger back, more from the shock than the actual force – she’s so weak she could barely drag herself to the beach.

“Where the hell were you?” she demands to know, tone livid yet shaky. “How could you just leave without saying something? Just walk away while I was sleeping?”

“Clarke,” he begins firmly, but there’s no stopping her now as she crowds him, her heels digging into the sand and her blue eyes furious as she spews out all the anguish that’s been building since she woke to find him gone.

“What were you thinking?! You could’ve gotten yourself killed! Gotten yourself injured while you slowly bled to death alone somewhere with no way for me to _find_ you—”

“We’re already dying,” he exclaims, breaking through her tirade. “And every day that goes by, we get a little closer.” He shakes his head, face broken, as if he has nothing left. “I couldn’t— I had to do something.”

The heat of her righteous anger immediately drains from her, and her whole body deflates, sagging with weariness. She’s just so tired of being afraid; afraid while slowly wasting away.

He takes her upper arms, holding her steady as she crumples into him. And when her head falls, his hands cradle her face, forcing her to look up at his curious smile.

“Clarke,” he pacifies, with a warm breath. “It’s gonna be okay.” His smile grows, and it’s so strange in this miserable moment. “I found water.”

And everything suddenly stops. Her expression must show disbelief because he’s nodding his head, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “I found it.”

“How? Where?”

He gives a long sigh, disturbing the hair caught between his hand and her cheek. “Far. But if we leave now we can make it there before dark.”

A restlessness stirs inside her, her stomach tight with excitement, and when she smiles up at him she notices how close they are – the position they’re in. She blinks before pulling her head back, and he instantly drops his hands, retreating from her.

He clenches his jaw, body rigid as he watches the sand blow at his feet, and she swallows down the guilt for having embarrassed him.

“You saved us,” she says simply, hoping to dissolve the awkward situation she’s caused.

He doesn’t reply, only nodding his head.

He inhales sharply then, as if remembering something, jerking his hand down to tug at his pocket before coming up with their canteen. Her tongue feels so heavy in her dry mouth. She doesn’t waste time, quickly guzzling the warm water. And it’s possibly the best thing she’s ever tasted in her life.

xxxxxxxxx

They don’t quite beat the night, but they’re close enough that Bellamy knows where to go. Free of the canopy of trees, the moon bathes the clearing in a soft, sparkling light, and Clarke can see just enough to make her gaze at it in wonder. Then Bellamy leads her to the gurgling stream and she thinks this might actually be heaven.

xxxxxxxxx

It’s not unusual for her to wake to the sounds of Bellamy – cursing as he cracks coconuts, or attempts to unsuccessfully start a fire, or spear fish – more often than not, he woke with the sun if not before.

“Why do you wake up so damn _early_?” she’d groaned one morning after rolling over to find him awake and brooding beside her.

“I like it,” he’d told her. “I like watching as the rest of the world wakes.” He’d wet his lips, and she’d found herself studying them, the fullness of them, at the deep cupid’s bow and wide, fleshy bottom. “Everything is so quiet on the Ark. So artificial. But down here…”

He hadn’t needed to say anymore. She understood. Down here the world was bursting with life.

She breathes out from her nose, slowly waking to the sight of him. He’s not working on their survival or staring off into the distance, ruminating over their predicament. He’s down on one knee, hands sifting through a black duffel bag, pulling out random items and studying them one by one before setting them down.

“What is that?” She sits up, wincing at her stiff back. This place might be nice with its fresh water and lack of sandflies, but the hard, rock surface made an awful place to sleep.

He doesn’t even spare her a glance, continuing to dig through the bag. “I found a pod in the jungle.”

She stills, staring at him and then the bag in bewilderment. There’s a bounty of survival gear laid out around him and her heart stops in her chest. “An escape pod? From the _Ark_?”

“That’s where I’m assuming it came from.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but it takes a few tries till something actually comes out. “Why… is there another pod here?”

“From what I can tell it’s pretty old. I found the occupant a few feet away – nothing but bones. Suicide by Earth is my guess.”

She leans over, picking up a small coil of thin wire. It’s clear and light. Fishing wire. She takes in the rest of the objects scattered on the ground, astounded at their luck. The water was amazing enough, but this…

Brows knitted together, she asks, “All of this came from the pod?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Her fingers play with the wire as she eyes the gear. “Why would he bring all this if he was expecting to die?”

Bellamy nods his head silently. “You’re right. He wasn’t trying to kill himself. He was trying to escape.”

“Yeah, but escape what?”

He only raises his brows. “The Ark. The Council. Hell if I know. It’s not exactly cushy up there for _everyone_ , princess.”

She closes her eyes in irritation, tossing the wire on the ground between them. Bellamy looks up ignorantly. “That’s enough. You don’t get to belittle me every time you feel like it. We need to work together down here. The least you could do is show me the same respect I’ve shown you.”

His lips part as if he’s about to argue, but then thinks better of it, releasing a resigned sigh. “I’m sorry.”

He wipes a hand across his mouth, jaw clenching and unclenching. She knows he’s not a cruel man. Knows that he’s worked hard to ensure their survival. But the chip on his shoulder is obvious, and his disdain for anyone he deems as “privileged” is sometimes carried over onto her.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

He peers up through his lashes, brown eyes so deep and earnest. He looks like a puppy, and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips at the ridiculous thought.

“Thank you for finding this. All of it. For going out and risking your life.”

A sheepish grin appears on his face, but he tries to hide it, ducking his head. “I wasn’t gonna have one for much longer if something didn’t happen soon.”

“I’m lucky.”

“Lucky?” he questions with a grunt.

“I’m lucky that you’re here. I’m lucky that it wasn’t someone else that came with me.”

His eyes are wide and baffled at her assertion. “I’m sure someone else would’ve been a lot more capable—”

“But I’m glad it’s you.”

He’s silent, his cheeks turning red. And she’s unbelievably proud of herself for making him blush so hard she can actually see it as it paints his dark skin. Then she feels a pang of sadness at the realization that he has no idea how to take a compliment, most likely because he’s very rarely received them.

“Well, I’m glad _you’re_ here.” His voice is rough with emotion before he clears it. “Otherwise I would be dead,” he laughs, not at all fooling her with his cover up. “I have something for you.” He picks up a grey case, holding it out to her.

She cocks her head, eyes narrowing, playfully suspicious. He huffs, trying to stifle his boyish grin as he shakes his head. “Would you just take it.”

Her satisfied smirk disappears once she lifts the lid. The relief and the shock are both so heavy within her chest, it’s painful. With shaky fingers, she removes a small plastic bag, studying the bottle within. Antibiotics, analgesics, antihistamines. Forget the water, forget the survival gear. _This_ find is the real miracle.

“I _thought_ you’d like that,” Bellamy says with a grin.

“Bellamy,” she breathes.

“I know.”

He knows. She doesn’t have to explain the importance of this. Which is a good thing because she’s still speechless, unable to comprehend her thoughts much less any words she wants to say.

“We _are_ going to be okay.”

xxxxxxxxx

“You know, there isn’t anything in that case that’s gonna help you if you fall and break your neck.”

Bellamy only snorts, not even bothering to tell her that he was having those same fears just a few days before. He repositions himself in the branches, settling a little more securely within the tree. “That’s why you’re here, princess. To catch me if I fall,” he teases.

“I thought we’d agreed not to call me that anymore.”

He looks down at her with his best shit-eating grin. “Sorry. Habits.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms in annoyance which only serves to prop up her ample chest. From his position perched above her, he can see _everything_ she’s hiding beneath that ratty shirt, and he quickly turns back to the task at hand. He may be an asshole, but he’s not that much of a sleazeball. He doesn’t need to take peeks down a girl’s shirt, more than capable of getting what he needs just by asking for it.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it in regards to Clarke. She was attractive and well-endowed and they would never again see another soul besides each other. He didn’t _expect_ anything to happen, but you can’t blame him for hoping.

“Would you just hurry and finish already,” she calls up in exasperation. “But be careful, take your time.”

Bellamy shakes his head with a wry grin. “Do you want me to hurry or take my time?”

“ _Bellamy_.”

“Alright, alright.”

He does his best to continue freeing the escape pod’s parachute from the tree’s branches. When he’d taken Clarke to see the pod, it was the first thing she’d noticed, wrapped and snarled in the branches above them.

He’d followed her gaze up.

“When can use that,” she’d said. “Make it into a tent. It’d be perfect for keeping out the rain and bugs.”

So here he was, trying not to fall out of a tree while gingerly cutting away the nylon too ensnared and twisted to be of any use.

He manages to salvage two large sections, dropping them onto the ground below before carefully climbing down himself.

They carry the parachute back to the stream, Clarke washing off the decades of caked on dirt and grime while Bellamy begins constructing the frame. They work in silence, never very far from each other except for when Bellamy leaves to retrieve more wood or bamboo. Once she’s finished, she lays the parachute out on the rock to dry under the hot sun and makes her way over to Bellamy.

“Can I help?”

He squints up at her. “’Course.”

She’s surprised at how well they work together – how in-synch they are. A lot of the time they don’t even need to speak, but when they do it’s always cooperative and respectful, even when one of them screws up – the other politely correcting them.

An hour later and they have a decent sized frame. Tall enough for them to stand under and wide enough for the both of them to sleep with space between. They stand beside each other, admiring their hard work. She’s proud of it, proud of them.

They share a tired yet satisfied smile before collecting the parachute, draping the white and orange fabric over the frame. Bellamy cuts an entrance and Clarke fashions a strap to more securely hold the flap together.

They celebrate by sharing a canteen of water and eating some of the yellow fruit that she’s now taken to calling “minties”.

“You know, we’re not going to be able to live on these forever,” she says between bites.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Always gotta be negative.”

“I do not,” she argues with a scoff. “I’m just being realistic.”

He lets out a hard breath.

“I mean… there are so many things our bodies need. Protein, being one of them.”

“Yeah well, I’ll tell you when I come by some,” he says caustically.

“All we need is fish.”

“I’ve been trying to fish for days.”

“Bellamy, you’ve been trying to _spear_ fish for days. And I’m sorry to tell you, but you—” She stops herself before she can offend him.

But he cocks his head, brows arched, waiting for her to finish, all too aware of where she was headed.

She wets her lips, forging ahead. Survival meant being honest, and not tip-toeing around each other’s feelings. “You’re not great at it.”

“You think you can do better, you’re more than welcome to try.”

She presses her lips together, prepared for his outburst. “I’d probably do worse than you. But I have an idea.”

“Of course you do.”

She sighs at his childishness. “But first… we need to learn how to make a fire.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long... sorry? It kind of got away from me. Also, the rating has changed, this chapter is most definitely Explicit. Again, sorry if that's not your thing.
> 
> I want to thank makers of Lost In The White City for fueling my already horribly, dirty mind. This is all their fault.
> 
> But mostly I want to thank you guys for reading and leaving lovely reviews that make my day - you have no idea. As well as anyone who leaves kudos and bookmarks. I hope you guys enjoy!

Bellamy had been struggling to start a fire since they landed, but it always ended the same way with huffing and cursing and red, blistered palms. And while a fire hadn’t been paramount at the time, it definitely would’ve been a nice morale booster.

But now that they had water, shelter, and a way to catch their food, fire has become their new priority.

Bellamy carves out a notch in a piece of wood while Clarke crafts a bow using string from their new stash of supplies, working wordlessly beside one another yet again.

“This will work,” she says once they’re finished, their eyes meeting over the bow drill Bellamy has prepared between them. He nods, though she can see that it’s mostly for her benefit, his eyes full of doubt.

He starts out slow, allowing the wood time to dry and warm with the friction as he saws back and forth. He gradually picks up speed as he goes, his brows furrowed and body tense as he hovers over their contraption – one of the lessons they both remember from Pike.

She watches the spindle as it twists, her determined gaze practically willing flames to flare.

“This is a hell of a lot easier,” Bellamy mutters, breaking the hopeful silence. Clarke winces at just the memory of his other attempts, spinning a stick between his hands as fast as he could, his jaw clenched with pain until it became obvious that nothing was going to happen. It had been heart-wrenching to see the defeated look on his face after giving up, having only bloody palms and sweat dripping from his brow to show for his effort. If nothing else, she hopes that this works, simply to give him back a bit of the confidence he lost with every failed try.

Her breath hitches when smoke begins to drift up from between the spindle and the notch, and Bellamy freezes in shock.

“Don’t stop,” she exclaims in excitement, and he quickly continues, sawing faster, adding more pressure on the top rock until smoke practically billows around them. She sets her hand on his arm without a word and he halts, understanding, the giddy anticipation palpable between them as he carefully dumps the coal from the notch. Clarke bends over, blowing gently into the tiny pile of black, smoking dust.

“Here.” Bellamy hands her the tinder bundle and she pours the coal in the middle of it, cradling it in the soft shavings of bamboo and moss to protect it from the wind. She continues to blow on it, giving it just the right amount of air it needs to thrive.

“Careful,” Bellamy cautions just before flames begin peeking out.

The joy that spikes within her is indescribable as she smiles wide at Bellamy. “We did it.”

He chuckles that adorable chuckle that says he’s proud but too embarrassed to show it, and she so badly wants to hug him. Instead, she places the flaming bundle beneath their already prepared twigs and sticks that pop and snap as they catch fire. She can feel the glow of it burning just as hot within her as she can against her skin, soothing and warm – like Bellamy’s voice. Always making her believe they’ll be okay.

xxxxxxxxx

She uses the pliers to shape one of their needles into a hook, tying one end of the fishing wire into the loop. She raises a brow, showing off her work. “Better than a spear.”

Bellamy gives her a challenging smirk that should irritate her, but it only makes her body flash hot in an achingly pleasurable, yet frustrating way. “Yeah, we’ll see, princess.”

Their search for bait is entertaining to say the least.

“I’m not fucking touchin ‘em,” Bellamy declares after they roll over a dead log to find a hive of insects scattering in all directions, spooked at the sudden light.

Clarke rolls her eyes as she hunches down. “I never thought someone would be such baby about bugs. Who’s the princess now?”

Bellamy scowls at her with such seriousness she wants to laugh. “They’re disgusting, Clarke. They skitter around in the dark. Hiding in your boots.”

And she _has_ to laugh at that, unable to help herself. It seems that one incident has scarred him for life, and the memory of waking up to his panicked squawking as he threw his boot outside their lean-to would always be a highlight of their time together on the ground.

“Well, that is why we now check our boots before putting them on,” she teases with a placating tone.

He only sighs in revulsion, watching her as she collects as many insects as she can, dropping them into a plastic container.

They follow the stream through the jungle, making small talk as they go. It’s strange how comfortable she feels around him, they still just barely know one another, but she already can’t imagine being without him. They complement each other, work well together. That, and… she enjoys his company. He can be teasing and playful in his banter with her, but then, quick as a flash, become incredibly serious, and their deep, meaningful conversations sometimes catch her off guard.

She’s learned that, to her surprise, he is a huge nerd and a wellspring of useless historical facts, and he takes it as a personal affront when she, oftentimes purposefully, confuses dates of historical events.

Provoking him has become one of her favorite past times.

He can also be sullen and irritable some days, brusquely shooting down all of her ideas and just generally being an ass. She’ll usually call him on it quickly though, and he’ll make an effort to relax. Sometimes she’ll try to get him to talk to her about it – about whatever it is that has him broody and miserable, but he always refuses, muttering an apology and moving on as if nothing happened.

But overall it’s easy being with him, she doesn’t have to be anyone else – the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect friend. She can just be Clarke, and that’s more than enough for him. They’re like two lost puzzle pieces that fit together despite it all.

She tries not to think too much about how she’ll never see anyone else again – it’s a sad and terrifying thought – but if she’s forced to be stuck alone with anyone for forever, she’s glad it’s with Bellamy Blake. 

The gurgling stream eventually widens into a river, the water rushing faster and deeper over the slippery stones.

“This looks like a good spot,” she announces, dropping the container at her feet. She has to staunch a smile at Bellamy’s groan of disgust when she spears a bug onto the hook before casting it into the water, enjoying every minute of his discomfort.

It takes longer than she was expecting, the clear stream gliding around the empty wire.

“Maybe I should’ve brought my spear,” Bellamy gloats.

“Shut up,” she murmurs, refusing to admit defeat. Especially to him. She hears him snort, and she becomes even more determined.

Finally, she feels a slight tug and her whole body jumps in surprise.

“I think I got one,” she breathes in astonishment.

Bellamy’s beside her in a second, watching in anticipation as she pulls the wire, revealing a squirming fish hanging from the end of it. He squeezes her arm, his large hand wrapping around her bicep. “Good job,” he compliments with a proud smile. “Think you can catch another?”

She cocks her head along with a brow. “Hopefully. Otherwise you’ll be eating fruit for dinner tonight.”

His smile transforms into a grin as he shakes his head, and she’s surprised when she suddenly realizes… she’s happy. She was always content on the Ark, but she never dared to be so carefree, never so full of hope and excitement for the future – at the possibilities it holds. Life on the Ark had always been planned out – finish school and medical training, become a doctor and get married. But down here she can do anything she wants, _become_ anything she wants.

It’s as scary as it is freeing.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke catches two more fish before they decide it’s enough. Anything they get they’ll have to eat immediately since they have no way to preserve it.

“We could build a smokehouse,” she proposes on their way back, waving her hand at the mosquitos buzzing around them.

“We could. But I doubt we’d have problems ever finding food here.” Living in the tropics meant no cold season, which was both a blessing and a curse. It meant plenty of food all year round, but it also meant no reprieve from the sweltering heat, which he knows is something they could both use.

Bellamy’s surprised the fire’s still going when they return, low as it is. He adds more wood, deciding to begin stockpiling tomorrow since they would now need it continuously.

Clarke pulls out a fish from the container, laying it on a flat rock, just staring at it.

“I’m assuming you don’t know how to clean it,” Bellamy says.

She looks up at him. She obviously hadn’t thought this far ahead, but then again, neither had he.

“Do _you_?” she asks, with a hopeful lilt.

He sighs, kneeling across from her. “Not a damn clue.”

She laughs, the sound never failing to make him smile.

“We’ll just do this the same way we do everything else, then,” she says.

“What way’s that?”

“Trial and error,” she answers. “Learn as we go.”

He nods his head fondly. “We’re getting good at that.”

And it really is trial and error as they gut their first fish, slimy and difficult as it is.

“We probably should’ve removed the scales first,” he says as he watches her cut through the tough outer layer.

“Probably,” she sighs tiredly, wiping at her forehead with the back of her hand, tiny cuts on her palm from the scales, and she pushes her sleeves up carefully, careful not to touch them with her bloody fingers.

The grey material is already soiled with dark sweat stains under the arms and down the front and back. She hasn’t removed it since they landed, and it has to be the most unsuitable, not to mention uncomfortable, piece of clothing for the conditions they’re in.

“You should cut them off.”

She doesn’t even look up, gritting her teeth as she works. “Will definitely do that first next time.”

“No. Your sleeves,” he clarifies. “You should cut them off.”

She glances at him, then at her frayed sleeves. “And get eaten alive like you? No, thanks.”

“No, you’ll just boil alive, smelling up the whole camp.” For a second he’s worried his teasing may have gone too far, but then she laughs, sitting back from the fish that seems to stare up at them in judgement with its belly cut open and mouth wide.

“You’re one to talk. Have you taken a whiff of yourself lately?”

“So we both need to bathe,” he admits. “But at least I took a dip or two in the ocean before we left the beach. When’s the last time you even touched water that you weren’t drinking?”

“I _bathe_ ,” she insists as if offended he would dare to think otherwise.

“Oh, really?”

She ducks her head, looking down at their fish. “Sponge baths,” she mutters under her breath.

He licks his lips, trying his best to reign in his grin. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to walk all the way to the beach,” she grumbles. “We’ll waste our whole day on that trip.”

He thinks for a moment, blinking at her bloody hands as they work. “We can follow the river. It’s gotta end somewhere. And if nothing else, we can just wash in _it_.”

She agrees, continuing in her work. She descales, guts, and fillets the second one much faster, before directing Bellamy on how to do the third. They use the pot to poach their fish over the fire, both of them watching the simmering water with hungry bellies.

It turns out delicious, the fluffy, white meat exactly what their bodies had been craving.

Bellamy pops the last of his into his mouth. “This is really good.”

Clarke hums in agreement as she chews, savoring the morsels on her tongue.

“I could eat this forever.”

She has to cover her mouth when she snorts out a laugh. “You probably will,” she says around her food with a grin.

He returns it. “Yeah, I probably will.” And he’s okay with that, because being down here is already better than the Ark in every way imaginable. Guilt gnaws at him for thinking that while his sister remains up there all alone. But hopefully doing this will ensure her a better life – or at least a life in general.

That night they lay in their tent, listening to the fire outside as it crackles and pops. The sound is nearly drowned out by the incessant buzz and chitter of the jungle.

There’s a large space between them, each of them taking one side of the tent. It’s strange being so far apart after days of being crowded together. He misses her, the solidness of another body beside his own, letting him know that he’s not alone.

The fire offers up a dim, shifting glow through the parachute walls, enough light for Bellamy to see his surroundings. Clarke faces away from him, stirring every now and then. She isn’t asleep.

“Clarke,” he whispers roughly.

She stills at first, before slowly turning to face him. She wears a pinched expression of frustrated pain. “This ground is so hard. It really makes me miss the beach.”

“And the sandflies?”

“God, no,” she emphasizes with closed eyes. “Definitely not the sandflies. But we can’t sleep on this forever.”

He blinks at her, at her blonde hair as it glows in the muted, orange light, leaving one side of her beautiful face in shadows.

“I’ll figure something out tomorrow.” He holds out his arm. “C’mere.”

Her lips part as her eyes flit from his face to his outstretched arm. “I’m fine.”

“Clarke,” he huffs in annoyance at her lie. “We’ve been sleeping this close since we got here. One more night’s not gonna change anything.”

She sighs, her eyes rolling as she gives in, scooting over to him and laying her head on his chest. He knows it’s not that much of a hardship for her. One thing he’s learned about Clarke Griffin these last few days – she’s a cuddler.

It’d been strange at first, waking in the middle of the night to the feel of her forehead pressed against his back and her hands clenching his shirt, her legs intertwined with his own. He usually woke first, disentangling her limbs from his to avoid her any embarrassment later on. Other times he lazed around waiting for her to wake, just so he could see the bright bloom of red on her cheeks when she noticed their position.

He wasn’t used to having someone so close while he slept. When he was younger there’d been Octavia, but that was years ago, their mother deeming it inappropriate as O began to grow. So instead he’d lie awake, listening to the soft breaths of his mother and sister sleeping below him – until he no longer had that either, he thinks bitterly.

But his body quickly remembers what it _was_ like to have someone there, and he hadn’t realized how much he craved the touch of another person in his sleep, until Clarke.

He’s not sure what to do with his arm, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable, but he decides to just wrap it around her nonetheless, his hand cradled in the dip of her waist. If she wants him to move it she can ask.

But minutes later and she’s still stiff as a board, breaths quick and uneven. He sets his hand on her head, thumb stroking the greasy strands. “Relax, Clarke.” At first he’s worried he’s made things worse when she holds her breath, but then she inhales deeply, releasing it slowly before her body begins to melt against him.

He can’t help but stay awake, listening to the sounds of her sleep against the backdrop of the jungle, the loneliness quickly evaporating.

xxxxxxxxx

They don’t have to walk very far till they find it, just a few miles past where they’d stopped to fish the day before.

“Now that, is a waterfall,” Bellamy says in awe, leaning over the edge.

Clarke eyes him with worry. “Don’t you even think about it.” He turns, brow raised in question. “You are not jumping.”

The corner of his lips raise and he shakes his head. “I may be daring, but I’m not suicidal.”

“Good,” she says simply, walking away and leaving him to stare at her back.

They make their way down carefully, helping each other as they grasp onto the trees that grow out from the sloped edge, slipping a few times but always catching each other with a laugh.

They eventually reach the bottom, breaking through the foliage and gazing in wonder at the sight of the large pool. The green water sparkles as the fall crashes into it from above, the sun beating down like a relentless spotlight through the gap in the thick canopy.

Bellamy perches a foot on a rock, bending over to untie his laces before doing the same with the other. He pulls his shirt over his head, heedlessly throwing it to the side as he begins unfastening his pants. She watches hesitantly, wishing she could strip down to her underwear as carelessly as him.

He looks back, noticing her hesitation. He still has his pants on but his fly is wide open and she tries very hard not to let her eyes fall to the bulge there.

“What’s wrong?”

She raises her brows, quickly shaking her head. “Nothing,” she squeaks before clearing her throat. “I uh— I just…”

He sighs with a small grin. “Clarke, we came all this way to bathe, not enjoy the scenery.”

“I know.”

He turns away then, tugging off his boots followed by his pants. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” he calls back nonchalantly, wading into the water.

She scowls at that, offended by his indifference to her body. Which is stupid since he’s obviously trying to make her feel better about undressing in front of him – even if it is in his own irritating way.

Once he’s in the water he spins to face her, a smile of relief lighting up his handsome face. “C’mon, Clarke. It’ll feel good.”

Just looking at him in the sparkling water makes her squirm, becoming more aware of her body practically roasting beneath her clothes than ever before.

She steps closer.

“Look,” he says, twisting around, water sloshing against him, “I won’t even face you.”

Oh, what the hell, she thinks, finally giving in. It’s not like there was anyone else on this entire planet to see her.

She removes her clothes much more carefully than Bellamy, setting them neatly on a rock by the edge of the pool, leaving her only in her underwear. Her black panties were starting to become loose, not fitting quite as snugly as they did when she first got here. She would be happy to lose a little weight, but it only seems to be happening around her hips. Her stomach still isn’t flat or defined, nor are her round arms or ass. And her chest— it practically spills out of the two sizes too small, grey bra.

But she pushes away at the silly thoughts when she begins wading into the warm water. How her body looks in her utilitarian underwear should be the last thing on her mind. Peeling off that damn shirt had felt amazing, the humid air practically chilly against her overheated skin, but the water—the water leaves her speechless as it envelopes her clammy body.

She can’t help the moan that crawls up her throat, closing her eyes at the sensation of feeling cool and light for the first time in weeks.

Bellamy peeks over his shoulder, making certain she’s submerged before turning around completely. The action causes a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest. That he respects her enough, cares for her enough to acknowledge her wishes. It meant a lot. More than she was probably ready to admit.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Much.”

He dips his head back into the water, running his fingers through his wet hair, slicking it back and off his forehead. It almost looks like when she first met him, before she knew who he was and how important he would become to her.

“I wish we had soap,” she says longingly.

He pushes closer to her, the water lapping around her at the movement. “We can always figure out how to make some. This is good for now though. We’ve got plenty of other things to keep us busy.”

“We’re a regular Adam and Eve,” she notes humorously as she peers around at the jungle that surrounds them. It was still strange to think that this world was all for them, and they wouldn’t even see the majority of it.

They begin washing themselves as best they can, and he convinces her to dip her head back into his hands to help clean her hair. She’s embarrassed at first, at the ratted, tangled mess it’s become, but he doesn’t act appalled at it, gently easing his fingers through the blonde strands, made darker by the water, massaging her scalp with every stroke. She has to bite back a moan as she slides her eyes closed at his touch.

She washes all her clothes except for her pants, laying them out on the rocks to dry. “Don’t you wanna wash your clothes?” she asks him.

He shrugs. “I can always do it later.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Boys.”

“Hey, you’re more than welcome to walk around without a shirt on, Clarke.”

She gives a fake laugh as she shakes her head at him. “I’m sure you’d _love_ that. But no thanks.”

“What’s the matter? I won’t look,” he promises with a smirk.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

They spend the rest of their time swimming and diving, playing in the beautiful, twinkling water around them. She becomes aware of the fact that he can see all of her very clearly when they’re underwater, making her self-conscious. She gets over it quickly though, deciding to have fun and enjoy herself for once in her life without worrying about everything and everyone else.

“We should probably start heading back,” she announces when the sun is at its highest point above them. “I think I’m beginning to prune.”

He licks the water from his lips. “And you still have to catch dinner,” he adds.

“ _Me_?” she questions indignantly. “What the hell are you gonna do? Watch me while I do what you couldn’t?”

He snorts, amused by her offended tone and her attempts to rile him, plodding through the water and up the pebbled shore. She tries not to look at him, she really does, but his black briefs are clinging to him like a second skin hiding absolutely nothing, and she can’t help the half a second her stunned eyes flash down until she forces herself to look elsewhere.

She doesn’t even try to control the obvious flush she can feel on her cheeks, there’s no way it was going away anytime soon. Or ever again if she continues to think about Bellamy’s lean, wet body in nothing but skintight, soaking underwear.

She instead focuses on getting dressed, peeking once behind her only to see Bellamy pull his cargos over the swell of his ass.

She’s a horrible, hypocritical person and she knows it, though she has a feeling he wouldn’t have a problem at all with her ogling him. Not that, that makes it right… Because it’s not… At all…

She sighs at herself.

“ _I_ am going to make us a bed,” he announces, and she has to remember what it was they’d been talking about.

“A… bed?”

His brows knit together at her sudden confusion. “Yeah. Unless you like sleeping on the ground.”

She inhales sharply, finally understanding. “No—yeah, that’s good. A bed. That’s a good idea.”

He cocks his head, grinning at her strange behavior. “Glad you approve.”

She stays silent as they dress, hearing but not really listening to the drone of his deep voice beside her, hoping he doesn’t notice just how much she’s affected by him.

Once they’re done she fishes, trying not to daydream about thick thighs, hard abs, and droplets running over brown, pebbled nipples. Especially while Bellamy works just behind her, cutting and measuring out different lengths of bamboo.

“I’ve decided I love bamboo,” he calls out to her.

“Oh, yeah?”

“It’s strong, easy to work with, hollow. It’s perfect.”

She smiles over her shoulder, watching him while he works. Her breath catches at the thought of how close she’d been to being sent down here _alone_ , and she hates herself a little bit when she remembers how much she _wanted_ to be alone after finding out who she was being sent down with.

_“Are you ready,” she asks quietly while the guard snaps on their wristbands._

_He glares over at her. “Are_ you _?”_

_She’s taken aback by his rudeness, opening her mouth to say something but thinking better of it, turning away instead._

_Why did her mother have to ask for this? It was bad enough that she’d agree to send her only daughter to a radiation soaked planet – she doesn’t even want to think about what’s going to end up happening down there – but now she’d be stuck with this asshole._

_Jaha stands off to the side, watching with his ever present smile. It’s a wonder that he wasn’t smiling at her dad’s execution. Or maybe that was because of Wells, she thinks. She grits her teeth against how much she misses him._

_She doesn’t miss him, she tells herself, she_ hates _him, and she doesn’t at all wish he were here. She repeats it over and over again in her head until she nearly believes it._

_“If you two will now enter the escape pod.”_

_She eyes the man beside her—Bellamy—one last time, only to see him doing the same with her. When their eyes catch she sees a hardness in them, but also a twinge of fear, and it makes her feel a little better – the comradery. She just wishes it wasn’t with_ him _. Whoever the hell he is._

_After they’re seated, they’re told to buckle themselves in. Bellamy has a difficult time with it, trying to understand where all the belts are supposed to go, growling softly to himself in frustration. The guards wait impatiently beside the pod, and it only serves to make him more nervous. She reaches over to help but he belligerently pushes her hands away._

_“I got it,” he snarls at her._

_She scowls at him before once again turning away, almost hoping they do die the moment they land. Then she thinks better of such a selfish, morose thought. They don’t have to die, when she can just leave. They’ll have a whole planet after all, if they survive the radiation, and Jaha never said they had_ _to stay_ together _._

_They’re given a quick how-to when it comes to the pod, but she’s not really listening, her heart hammering loud in her ears while she does her best to control her erratic breathing._

_Jaha comes to her side, squeezing her shoulder, and she has to force herself not to push him off her._

_“Good luck, Clarke,” he says with a nod._

_He’s about to turn away when Bellamy speaks up. “Jaha.” The older man stills, bent over to peer inside the pod. “Don’t forget about our deal,” Bellamy all but orders._

_Jaha blinks, tilting his head. “Bellamy Blake, you have my word, Octavia will be taken care of.”_

_The pledge doesn’t seem to ease the anxiety surrounding Bellamy one bit, but it’s all he’s going to get and he knows it, sitting back into his seat with a clenched jaw._

_With that, the doors hiss as they slam shut, leaving them in an awkward silence. It’s very quickly forgotten, however, once their descent begins, along with a new chapter in her life._

xxxxxxxxx

When they return to camp, she begins preparing their dinner as he goes about creating their bed. It’s actually interesting to watch it come together, and she wonders how he got the idea for it.

The frame is finished, made up of four short legs of bamboo, the sharpened ends lodged into the dirt –they’ll have to move their tent, but it’ll be worth it. Longer poles run down lengthwise, sitting securely in the notched top of the legs, with an opened and cut piece of bamboo laid out across them like a mat. So far the mat only covers a portion of the frame, Bellamy obviously working on the next piece.

“This is amazing. I’m impressed.” She holds out their canteen and he nods in thanks before taking swig of cool water.

He huffs with exhaustion, breath ragged. “Don’t be too impressed yet,” he warns with a grin. “I still don’t know if it’ll hold.”

“It’ll hold,” she tells him with confidence.

It takes another half hour, Clarke forcing him to take a short break for dinner, but eventually it’s finished.

Bellamy wipes the sweat from his face with his bicep. “Go ahead, try it out.”

She stands at the end of it, smiling in expectation as she slowly eases her way down. When it doesn’t fall apart around her, she sets all of her weight on it, and her smile grows so wide it nearly hurts. “It’s perfect.” The relief on his face makes her heart stutter.

She giggles, gently pushing her way up to stretch out her whole body. It’s honestly the most comfortable bed she’s ever slept on, the thin mattress and metal frame she had on the Ark not even comparing to the firm, yet springy bamboo mat holding her up now.

Bellamy sits next to her, testing its strength. “I’ll probably have to lay down a few more,” he says pushing on the mat. “Just to be sure it’s strong enough.”

She raises an arm behind her head, smiling up at him with pride. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says with a nod, ears turning red. He lets out a tired sigh as he lays down beside her, closing his eyes. He groans, and the sound reaches all the way down to her core. “Fuck, this does feel good.”

“Right? I think you might’ve been an engineer in another life.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, I wouldn’t go that far.”

They lay together, both just enjoying the silence for a few minutes.

“My dad was an engineer,” she then says sadly. She remembers him as he sat at his desk, drawing out his designs, her young eyes observing the pencil gliding across the thin paper. As she got older, she would help him sketch out his creations, while he explained the function and purpose of whatever it was he’d been working on at the moment. He only ever wanted to help people, help make life easier for people.

There’s a sudden burning ache in her chest, almost like a part of her has been ripped out. She misses him. So much.

Bellamy’s quiet at first, but she can practically hear him mulling over her words. “Was?”

“He was floated,” she answers quietly.

She hears him inhale, the information a surprise to him. “I’m sorry.”

Her throat begins to tighten and she knows she should probably change the subject before she loses control, but as much as it hurts, it also feels good to talk about it – about him. She was placed in solitary almost immediately after his execution, sitting alone in her tiny cell with no one and nothing to distract her from flashes of her father’s face just before he was sucked into space.

“It’s not your fault,” she chokes out.

He’s looking at her now, big brown eyes, soft and solemn. “No, but I know what it feels like.”

Their eyes meet and a tear escapes from the corner of hers. He reaches over, calloused thumb caressing her cheek, and it doesn’t help her restraint at all, more tears coming unbidden before sliding down her temple and across the bridge of her nose. She rolls towards him, grasping his arm as she presses her face into his shoulder, letting herself go and accept the support he’s offering. He cradles her head, setting his cheek atop it, holding her to him. Holding her together as she falls apart.

xxxxxxxxx

Their days become routine. They spend their mornings eating breakfast and feeding the fire – or starting it again after a night of rain – sometimes gathering more wood as needed. Then their afternoons are spent fishing and foraging for more fruit.

They take trips to the pool every couple days, Clarke becoming more and more comfortable with just stripping off her damn clothes and diving in. He doesn’t gawk at her, but she doesn’t hide herself anymore – nor does she demand privacy – so he doesn’t exactly keep himself from admiring the full package that is Clarke.

She’s beautiful, but he already knew that, her sharp mind and strength of spirit sometimes leaving him in awe. Of course there’s also her clear, blue eyes and blonde hair that shines beneath the sun, the birthmark set so close to her lip it practically begs him to kiss her.

But her body is something else entirely – full and soft with curves that make him want to die. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen in his – admittedly – small amount of experience, most women on the Ark being thin and lithe due to their diets. He’s assuming genetics has something to do with the singular exquisiteness of Clarke Griffin, and he thanks anyone and everyone that had a hand in creating her.

In the evening they cook and eat their dinner, talking about everything and nothing before finally getting ready for sleep. He made the bed wide enough for each of them to have their own space, but that doesn’t happen anymore, both of them wordlessly pressing up against each other. It can be uncomfortable being so close – hot and sticky in the humid air – but the reassurance it offers is worth it, allowing them to sleep more soundly.

After weeks on this planet, they seem to actually be thriving. Their lives becoming easier after each passing day.

It’s during one of their days spent at the pool that everything changes.

Bellamy climbs one of the taller boulders, Clarke wading below looking up at him. He smiles down at her before jumping off, plunging headfirst into the green water with barely a splash.

He quickly comes up back up, breaking through the surface, shaking the wet hair from his face. “How was that?”

Clarke scrunches up her face, tilting her hand from side to side. “Eh, it was okay.”

“What?” he says in mock outrage. “That was perfect.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, “let’s not exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate?”

“You can be cocky sometimes,” she explains with a half grin that he wants to kiss off her face.

“Believe me, princess, I have every reason to be cocky,” he says, raising his brows suggestively.

She rolls her eyes, splashing water in his direction. It starts a war between them, their splashes becoming larger as they get closer together, the sounds of their playful cries and laughter echoing off the rocky walls around them.

She attempts to swim away from the onslaught, but he catches her arm, dragging her to him. She fights, trying to break free from him with her small fists on his chest, but he has strength on his side as he holds her in his solid grasp.

“Okay, okay,” she relents, finally wearing herself out, giggling as her body sags against him. “I give up.”

He relaxes his hold, and it’s just enough for her to spring up, placing her hands on his head and shoulder and push him down under the water. He might have strength, but she has subterfuge, her sparkling blue eyes and girlish smile getting him every time.

He grabs her torso while beneath the surface, lifting her as he reemerges, making her shriek in surprise. He gives her a smug smile while he holds her up. “Liar.”

She returns it, feeling happy and carefree – like a teenager for once in her life. She leans her forearms on his shoulders, and he allows her to slide down just enough for her to wrap her legs around his waist, grinning faces nearly touching as they float in the water.

The space around them starts to shift, fizzing and snapping as it becomes charged with need – a silent current running between them. She doesn’t pull away, something she usually does by now, and instead her eyes flit to his lips. He moves his head closer, resting his forehead against hers, leaving the rest up to her.

He feels the heat of her against his abdomen, her legs squeezing around him every few seconds. It’s driving him crazy but he loves it, and he’s practically panting by the time she leans forward. She doesn’t have far to go, as close as they are, but she takes an achingly long time to get there, and when their lips finally touch it’s everything he’s been waiting for.

Hers are chapped and hesitant, chaste as they simply press against his own. He lets it stay that way – lets her set the pace. Which is slow – her pace is _slow_. Agonizingly slow. So you can’t really blame him when his patience begins to disappear and he takes her bottom lip between his own, sucking on the plump flesh. It seems to drive her on harder, her fingers grasping and slipping through his wet strands as she wraps her arms around him.

He’s gradually moved them to shallower water, and when his feet finally touch the bottom he uses his now free hand to clutch her thigh before gliding it up to squeeze her ass. She lets out a squeak followed quickly by a moan against his lips, making him groan in response, his tongue skimming along the seam of her lips until she opens for him. He doesn’t hesitate, licking into her mouth and caressing her tongue, tasting her.

Everything is developing smoothly until he pushes her up against a boulder and she breaks away, dazed eyes looking down at him. He bends forward, ready to reattach himself to her throat, eager to find out if her skin is as delicate as it looks. But she pushes at his shoulders, her legs falling away from him. He blinks at her, confused until he understands. She doesn’t want him. She may be horny, but she doesn’t want him and she never has.

He nods, his nose flaring as he works his jaw, not even trying to hide the hurt that has suddenly exploded in his chest. He steps away from her before finally turning, trudging out of the pool and onto the rocky shore where his clothes lay. He’s embarrassed and stupid. So stupid for ever thinking that she’d want someone like him.

He can hear her behind him, making her own way out of the water. “Bellamy,” she says tentatively.

“Don’t.” He swallows hard, roughly tugging on his pants before doing the same with his shirt. The last thing he wants to listen to is her apologize over all of this.

A rumble starts above them, but still far enough away for him to make it back to camp before the coming downpour.

“Bellamy, please—”

“ _Don’t_ , Clarke,” he growls as he begins walking into the jungle, trying to get as far from her as possible, her mere presence a painfully sharp reminder that he’ll never escape his past, never be seen as anything more than Bellamy Blake, the janitor who had a prostitute for a mother and a sister hidden beneath the floor. The failure who lost everything that meant anything in one fell swoop.

He can hear her calling him from behind, and a part of him worries about leaving her out here alone with a storm on the way. But he knows she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, not to mention so much smarter than him.

“Bellamy, please wait,” she calls out. She’s closer now, running to catch up before she’s finally beside him, pulling back his arm as she plants herself in front of him. There’s another roll of distant thunder and he notices as the jungle around them starts to grow darker.

He moves to step around her but she’s there, urging him back. “Get the hell outta my way.”

“Can we please just… talk about it?”

“Talk?” he huffs with bitterness. “There’s nothing to talk about, princess. I’m not good enough for you. I get it. Let’s move on.” He marches around her, determined to make it back to camp without bursting.

She yells out for him again, her voice coming out sharper, but he continues to ignore her until she jogs up beside him, trying to keep pace with his longer strides. “Hey, what the hell are you talking about?” she demands to know.

He can’t help the derisive laugh that escapes his throat at her entitlement, and he spins toward her. The sudden stop takes her by surprise, and she has to take a step back before bumping into him. “You don’t want me. That’s fine, you don’t have to worry about it happening again—”

“But Bel—”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s over.”

“How can you make this _my_ fault,” she cries out with anger.

He stills, because she’s right. It’s not fair for him to have just expected her to fall for him. She doesn’t want him and… it hurts like hell. But he doesn’t have any right to get pissy over it. But _fuck_ does it hurt.

They stand across from each other silently, eyes fixed on each other, her normally bright ones dark as tears begin to swim around them, her angry bravado quickly waning. “You still love her. And that’s okay.”

Wait, what?

“But it is hard enough just lying next to you night after night while you hold me, and listen to you whisper her name. I can’t— I can’t _be_ with you if you’re only wishing I was her.”

Her face is red as she tries to hold back her tears, eyes fluttering against them. And he is so completely confused.

A loud crack sounds above them, and he knows they’re almost out of time. “What the hell are _you_ talking about?” he questions, voice haggard and strained.

She tilts her head, lips pressed together, like it’s too painful to even say. “Octavia,” she finally chokes out with a whimper.

His breath stops and he closes his eyes because now he understands. She takes it as confirmation. “You’re still in love with her.”

“Clarke… Octavia is my sister.”

The rain suddenly crashes down hard and fast through the canopy above them – fat droplets splashing on their faces and pattering on the leaves around them.

Her expression seems to be frozen in a permanent state of shock.

“Clarke—”

Her lips are on him so fast he doesn’t have time to think, just feel the rush of her as she attacks him without finesse. Her teeth nip at him, finally waking him up, and he tangles his fingers in her hair, gripping the long, drenched strands. She whimpers, pushing against him harder, nails digging into him deeper, her movements becoming frenzied and hectic like the storm beginning to rage around them.

With an effort, he breaks away from her, watching as the rain sluices down her face, eyes blinking from the drops.

“C’mon,” he husks as he takes her hand, leading her through the downpour until they make it to the clearing, rushing inside the tent.

The rain taps an erratic rhythm on the parachute as they stand across from each other, both heaving as they drip.

He swallows heavily. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, shame filling him over how he treated her.

Lips pressed together, she offers him a nod. He can’t read her like this, she looks so sad yet desperate and he’s not entirely sure what to do – not sure if she still wants him now that she’s had time to process things. He sure as hell wouldn’t.

She steps up to him slowly, eyes roaming over him before setting her palm on his chest, just the smallest amount of pressure through his soaked shirt. She doesn’t move, her brows pinched together, and he’s wondering what the hell she’s doing until he finally realizes she’s feeling his heartbeat – his uneven, violent heart as it thumps against his ribcage and vibrates out into her fingertips. He can’t help the shaky inhale, his chest and her palm rising with it.

She peers up at him through wet lashes. “I want you.” As amazing as the words are, it’s not actually them that spurs him on, but how she says them – so definitive, so _sure_.

He’d like nothing more than to throw them both down onto their bed – that he made while _not at all_ fantasizing about ravishing her in – and take her any way she wants, leaving them both sated and boneless with pleasure. But he makes a silent promise right there and then that, that is not how this is going to be. They have all the time in the world for fast and hard, but right now, he’s going to take his time, and torture them both until they’re drowning in ecstasy.

He holds her waist, fingers flexing around her as they caress the strip of skin between her shirt and her pants. His thumbs skim beneath before he slides his palms up her sides, dragging the material over her stomach and ribs. She raises her arms cooperatively and he drops the waterlogged fabric on the ground with a plop.

Her knuckles graze his stomach as she lifts the hem of _his_ shirt, and his abdominal muscles jump at the feel of them. Once she has him just as bare, he cups her face, gazing into her eyes like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to see, and a very sappy, stupid part of himself hopes that it is.

He kisses her softly, slowly, and with a tenderness that he’s fairly certain he’s never shown any other woman before. Not that it mattered to his past partners, most of them consisting of older, sometimes married women with much more experience than him. With Octavia to worry about, romance hadn’t been an option, relationships were too dangerous, and his sister always came first. _After_ Octavia, he just hadn’t given a shit anymore, doing anything he could to push away the loneliness and self-loathing for as long as he could.

But Clarke is different, _this_ is different, and he’s going to make sure he treats it, and her, as such.

When their tongues slip against each other she lets out a small cry, barely audible really, except that he _does_ hear it, and it tears hot through his body, making him groan into her wet mouth. When he breaks away she’s looking up at him expectantly, thumbs running back and forth on the outside of his wrists, her lips swollen and pink, and her breath blowing hot between them as she pants lightly.

He could only imagine her like this before, imagine her eyes as they transform into pools of lust for him. But this is real – _she’s_ real, and he knows just how incredibly lucky he is that she’s here with him.

Hands gliding down to her hips, he touches his forehead to hers as he backs her up gently until her calves bump the edge of the bed. She holds on to his shoulders for support while he works the button and zipper of her pants, rolling the thick, soggy material down her legs until he’s kneeling before her.

“Sit down,” he whispers up at her, voice rough and hoarse, strangled with his need. She does as he says, staring at him as he pulls off her pants the rest of the way, her fingers carding through his hair. Once he’s finished, he stands again, eyes hot on each other as he discards his cargos. Her blue ones drop quickly to his cock as it strains against his briefs, her throat working as she swallows thickly, making him twitch.

“Lie back.”

The bamboo mat shudders under her weight as she repositions herself, and when he adds his own he worries, holding still for a moment as it trembles again beneath them. But it holds strong, and he supposes this is going to be the real test to see just how well built his design is.

He lies beside her, propped up on his arm with his eyes fixed on her heady body. Even with the frantic heat between them, there’s still a soft intimacy, a gentle hum of care as their eyes lock, and it makes his heart clench knowing that she wants this too – wants _him_.

His free hand skims over her knee, ghosting down her thighs. She holds them closed, one hand resting on her damp stomach while the other is set firmly on his back, fingers pressing nervously into the muscles there every now and then.

As the heat of his palm passes over her panties she sucks in a little breath that makes his cock ache. She’s so sensitive and responsive, and he can’t fucking wait to make her lose her mind, begging and panting for him.

When his hand dances over her stomach he nudges his fingers beneath her palm, raising her hand to his lips, kissing lightly at her knuckles before she moves it to caress his jaw. Encircling his hand around her delicate wrist, he slides it down her arm, squeezing the fleshy forearm with a gentle pressure.

She breathes out his name and he blinks down at her before meeting her lips, sucking in her top one between his own, languidly drawing it in before running his tongue across it. She holds his head down, pressing her forehead against his as their breaths mingle. “I jus… I don’t… uhh.”

He huffs out a short laugh at her speechlessness. He hasn’t even touched her yet, not really, and he honestly can’t even imagine what she’ll be like when he does.

Fingers tangling in her wavy locks, he tugs gently, making her grunt as he tilts her head back until her neck is exposed to him. He wastes no time pecking lightly at the delicate skin there. He noses under her jaw, nuzzling her before dragging his lips down the column of her throat, feeling every hard swallow against his mouth.

She gasps when he bites the thin skin along her collarbone before laving at it with his tongue, leaving a chain of red marks until he reaches the hollow of her throat, kissing it tenderly.

Her harsh breathing coincides with her heaving chest, and he can’t help but settle his face into the bountiful flesh. He groans into her, just inhaling and enjoying the feel of her curves. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs into her. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

She scratches her nails down his scalp and another groan escapes him. “Maybe once or twice,” she says breathlessly, “but you’re the only one that matters.”

He hums in contentment as he begins to mouth at her nipple through the fabric of her bra, making her huff and clench her fingers in his hair. “Then I’ll be sure to tell you all the time,” he says around the damp fabric and her pebbled flesh. He tugs with his teeth at the little peak before moving on to the next, giving it much the same treatment until both nipples point hard and eager against the grey fabric.

He trails wet kisses down her sternum and across her ribs, nose pressing into her pale flesh as he breathes in her dewy skin, all the while his hand glides a path from her breast, down to her side, then back up again, always in motion, always in contact, keeping her guessing and writhing beneath him.

He kneels up, gazing down at her well kissed body, blooming red with love bites and her own natural flush that spreads from between her breasts and up her chest and neck. Her cheeks are pink as well, and her blue eyes have gone black as she stares back at him with unconcealed desire. She squirms and whimpers under his scrutiny, and it is a fucking sight – and sound – that travels straight to his cock. He can’t help but palm it, Clarke’s eyes darting to the movement of him fondling himself.

He’d love to put on a show for her, perhaps even let her touch, since she so obviously wants to, but if he does either of those things this’ll be over way too fast, and he has plans, dammit. So he drags his hand away from his throbbing dick and leans forward, knocking her knees towards him, laying a chaste kiss on each cap with a cheeky grin before playfully biting one.

She snorts, pulling them away. “Kneecaps aren’t sexy.”

He gives a mock frown, tugging her closer as he forces her leg up, making her giggle. “Kneecaps happen to be very sexy,” he declares as he strokes a hand from her calf to her ankle. “Especially yours.” He eyes her foot, smoothing his hand flat against the bottom of it. “Then again, everything of yours is sexy.” He kisses the top of it before skimming his lips up her leg, leaving sucking kisses along the way. Her breathing starts to become heavy again, teeth capturing her, already puffy, bottom lip, and it makes his stomach flip knowing that he’s doing this to her – driving her absolutely crazy.

As he makes his way higher up her leg, he gradually opens them, positioning himself between her soft thighs. Her lips press together as she clenches her fingers around her bra strap, warring with herself whether or not to pull it down. She watches with heated eyes as his mouth begins a slow journey down the inside of her thigh, leaving another series of marks, the muscles in her leg jolting with every sink of his teeth. He pays particular attention to one spot, taking his time and catching the skin between his teeth and sucking hard.

She cries out before silencing herself, body shuddering under his ministrations. He laves at the already reddening spot with his tongue before kissing it sweetly, eyes catching hers when he does.

Pushing forward, he mouths around her navel, tongue drawing shapes as he works his way down to the edge of her panties, ghosting his hot breath over the black strip of fabric that covers her. He gives her an open mouthed kiss, tasting her through the fabric, and her shocked, drawn out whine is heaven in his ears, clouding his mind in a haze of lust. He licks a broad stripe up her center, drenched panties catching on his tongue before he gives a quick suckle.

“ _God_ , Bella— Mmm.” Her eyes are screwed shut, face pinched and red.

He slips the panties up and over her legs, fucking desperate to finally see and taste her without anything between them. And she’s gorgeous, all pink and swollen and glistening with desire.

“Fuck, Clarke.”

She answers him with a soft whine.

He bows forward, pressing his face into her belly feverishly before sliding down. He licks sweet, languid kisses around her outer labia, moving closer and closer to her center, teeth catching a lip and tugging lightly at it before sucking it into his mouth and releasing it with a wet smack.

Clarke’s high-pitched moans are clipped and muffled as she tries to staunch the impassioned sounds from escaping her throat, making him that much more determined to tear them from her.

He gives her a swift lick, eyes closing as he groans at her taste, musky and sweet on his tongue, her body jerking under him. Her blunt nails rake down her breast, leaving red lines down her pale skin as her fingers curl into the cup of her bra, still holding out, not yet yanking it down. She’s strong, he’ll give her that, but he’s determined to wreck her in the best way possible, even if it kills him. Not that it would be a bad way to go.

He massages her inner lips, taking his time and licking the slick skin, moving in deeper and letting his tongue whirl around just inside her ribbed walls before pulling out. He teases, rubbing his lips around her labia with more wet, suckling kisses for a hot minute before suddenly pushing back in again.

Clarke pants above him, writhing and jerking as she tries to hold herself back, hand now squeezing her breast and tweaking her nipple under the cup while her hips undulate beneath him, seeking out more of what he has to give.

He doesn’t let up, hand coming around her leg to hold down her mons as her hips begin to thrash with his effort. His tongue plunders her deep, fucking her as he presses his mouth hard into her cunt. He can feel her arousal coating his face and spreading across chin, messy and intoxicating as her scent overwhelms him, making him forget everything except for her and his goal of making her shatter into a million pieces. Nothing else exists in this moment, nothing else matters.

He sweeps his tongue up to her engorged clit, pressing down hard as he circles it, pulsating his tongue against it, and the cry it unleashes from Clarke nearly makes him come, so primal and husky after holding back for so long, clawing up her throat in a deep wave of pleasure.

He hums against her in appreciation, and she throws her head back, releasing another sharp wail, neck straining as her hand scrambles for purchase. He catches it with his own, the one not holding her in place, and intertwines their fingers, letting her clench him for all she’s worth. Which is a lot because holy fuck is she strong.

He alternates between devoting his attention to her sensitive little nub, raised and pulsing from its hood, begging for him to play, to her insatiable cunt that leaks with want, desperate and eager for him to fill it. He lashes his tongue back and forth, and up and down – the sight, the smell, the taste, and the sound of her starting to become too much. But he soon feels her ridged walls as they flutter around his tongue, her body becoming stiff as she arches off the bed, and her sharp, needy cries suddenly going silent. And through it all he’s there, taking her orgasm in his mouth as he keeps hold of her hand, easing her back down to earth with gentle laps and stroking thumbs.

Her body drops back down on the shuddering mat, her head still tipped back as her chest heaves. She releases her death grip on his hand, and he uses it to smooth up and down her forearm.

“Bellamy,” she breathes out for him, and he’s there, pushing up between her legs and over her recovering body, stroking her hairline as he looks down at her, taking in her heavy-lidded gaze and relaxed features.

“Hey,” he greets with a smile and hoarse voice. She returns it with a sheepish smile of her own, eyes closing with embarrassment. He huffs a laugh before kissing her chastely, smearing her lips with her own arousal. She giggles, turning her head away, so he goes in for her jaw, pecking up and down the sharp line before making his way to her cheeks. She squirms under the onslaught of kisses, squealing in playful protest.

“Mmm, you taste so good though,” Bellamy teases her, catching her mouth once more. She allows it, smiling into it until she parts her lips, his tongue immediately taking advantage and plunging in. He licks deep into her mouth, greedy and dirty as he coaxes her own tongue to tangle. He swallows her moan, the sound setting him on fire, unable to stop himself from rutting up against her, starting up a succession of desperate, lustful noises from them both.

He feels her hand as it smooths down his back before squeezing his backside. He’s fairly certain she’s trying to kill him, until her thumb catches beneath the band of his briefs and begins pulling them over the swell of his ass.

Mouth never parting from her skin, he drags his lips back to her jaw, leaving a wet trail of saliva behind her ear where he groans into her, rolling his hips to help in her endeavor to relieve him of his underwear until he’s just as naked as her from the waist down.

“Clarke—,” he starts, but she cuts him off, lifting her head to take his lips as her hand takes his cock. The helpless whine that escapes him would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for her fingers squeezing his turgid flesh, sliding slowly along the length, making him lose all his senses. His body winds tight, muscles taut and ready to snap as she brushes soft kisses at the corner of his lips, his jaw, and his chin.

“I love the way you feel,” she whispers hungrily as she stares up into him with dark, determined eyes. He only nods, unable to speak while she keeps him trapped in her palm. But as much as he loves it, loves how confident it makes her to see him falling apart in her hand, he has to pull her away before he totally loses his shit.

He pushes down a cup of her bra, finally revealing one perfect tit – their next round, he’s going to spend an inordinate amount of time laving her amazing chest with attention – catching the peaked, rosy nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before giving her an open mouthed kiss over her whole areola, sucking and flicking his tongue until he feels her hips moving beneath him.  His hand slides over her cunt, gathering her arousal and slipping wet fingers around her clit, pressing down hard as he circles it quickly.

“Oh, f— Oh, fuck.”

Her cursing has him chuckling against her breast, because he’s more than ready to admit that Clarke is anything but a poised princess. She’s tough and resilient, demanding and cunning, and so fucking smart it scares him sometimes.

And he’s suddenly more desperate for her than ever, kissing her harshly as he lets up on her clit and grasps her hips, thumbs surely leaving behind marks – but what’s two more. He takes himself in hand, eyes locked with hers, pushing in slowly, only stopping at her sudden gasp.

He realizes belatedly that this is something he probably should’ve prepared her a little better for, stretching her with his fingers beforehand. He clenches his jaw, scolding himself internally. He’s not used to being the more experienced one.

“You alright?” he croaks, arms trembling as he holds himself above her.

Her nose is flared, lips pressed together so hard they wrap around her teeth. She nods her head vigorously, giving a soft whine of assurance.

He releases a hot breath, easing down onto his forearms, letting his weight press into her body comfortingly, one hand settling atop her head while the other smooths down her side. “Yeah?” He nuzzles her face as she once again nods her head, and he pushes his hips, sinking in a little deeper.

“Uhh, no it feels good,” she groans, words slurred, nails digging into his skin. “It’s just— _Bellamy_.”

He captures her earlobe, holding the flesh between his lips as he pulls out just as slow before starting up a shallow, gentle pace with measured strokes. He grunts into the curve of her neck, sweat forming along his brow with his effort to hold himself back.

Between her warm walls tight around him, and her faint cries with every push in, he’s certain he won’t last for much longer. He kisses her lips, her eyelids, her forehead, resting his face against her gleaming temple, driving deeper inside her.

“Yeah,” she moans. “Yeah. Nnghh.”

And fuck, her noises are most definitely going to be what does him in. His fingers curl into her hair at the top of her head, hips beginning to move a little faster, snap a little harder. She wraps her calves around his thighs, squeezing her own thighs around him with every thrust, gradually starting to meet him with each one.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he pleads hoarsely, because he really can’t take much more, and he’s hoping and praying he can get her off one more time before he loses himself inside her. “Fuck, just—”

By some miracle, she seems to actually hear him through the fog of sex that clutches around them, releasing her hold on his side to slip her hand between them, fingers nudging against his abdomen, already wound so tight with need, causing him to release a choked cry. And he feels her, rubbing firm little circles into herself, crying into his shoulder the closer she gets.

He wants to praise her, spur her on, help her get there a little faster, but he seems to have forgotten how to speak, his brain collapsing into a hazy mush of desperation and Clarke.

But somehow through it all he feels it as she clenches hard around him, pulsating into him and through his body, begging him to follow her over the precipice and into the abyss of satisfaction. Which he does, of course, mind blanking at the white hot pleasure rushing through him, igniting in his veins as his hips stutter to a stop, collapsing boneless with ecstasy.

Harsh breathing is the first thing that breaks through his post orgasmic bliss, surrounding him in a sonorous noise. Second is Clarke, quiet and soft beneath him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He rolls off her immediately, eyeing her for any signs of pain or anger.

Her eyes are wide, and so fucking blue, even in the dark glow of the tent. She offers up a happy smile, content and relaxed, and the fear clutching at his heart eases dramatically.

“That was nice.”

He frowns with a small smirk. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” she sighs lazily before rolling over to lay her head on his sweaty chest. He tries not to be offended by “nice” while she strokes her thumb over his rapid heartbeat. “Also kind of fucking amazing. We should definitely do that again some time.”

He chuckles, catching her hand with his own. “I definitely agree.”

**Author's Note:**

> Incase any of you're unsure, I LOVE comments! They make my little writer's heart happy!


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